Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change
by Aithne
Summary: Will's life is hanging by a thread. Elizabeth is violently ill. Barbossa and his motley crew are back along with the curse. Millions of souls could be damned. That leaves Captain Jack Sparrow to save the day...if he can manage to stay alive.
1. The Ever Changing Sea

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters you saw in the movie or read in the book. Please don't make me say that again. It was extraordinarily painful.

**A/N: **Hello, ye swashbucklers! This is my first PotC fanfic…angsty, mysterious, action-packed. It does not have much romance, except for scenes between Will and Elizabeth. But I will warn you….there is a character death in the running. So, without further ado, chapter one.

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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

_Prologue: The Ever-Changing Sea_

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"_Captain _Jack Sparrow….._captain," _he countered miserably, shaking his head in annoyance and rolling his heavily-darkened eyes. He had specified once before to Commodore Norrington that he was not just a "mister", he was a commandeer of a ship, a dramatic, swashbuckling, greedy genius who happened to consume more rum that entirely necessary. So _when _will those bloody Englishmen finally understand that he held a designation to his name? 

"I am sorry Mr. Sparrow, we do not give honorary titles to pirates," spat the plump general, eyeing his captive as if he were a disgusting bug that needed to be squashed. 

Jack peered at the man, sizing him up, wondering how on earth he managed to go through corporal training at his exceedingly generous weight. Finally he sighed, and in response the pirate gave a long, drawn out sigh and nodded his head in mock sadness. "I was expecting that answer, to be honest."

"Honest? _Honest?" _cried the general incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. The man's chest swelled up so big with fury and disbelief that Jack winced despite himself, afraid that the poor bloke would explode._ "When are pirates honest, Mr. Sparrow? When they're stealing? Soliciting to prostitution? Committing mutiny? Or perhaps when they are purposefully commanding a ship that has sailed into waters indisputably belonging to Her Majesty, whilst instigating an attack on the British Royal Navy?"_

To this, Jack Sparrow did not answer quickly; a trait that was quite out of character for him. He looked upon the fully round, rosy-cheeked face of his captor, staring into his gray, beady pig-like eyes, wondering how much of his story this man would believe lest Jack dare tell him. If only he knew why he had ordered the crew to fire upon them, if only he knew what was at stake or how many lives could be lost or how many souls could be damned…

But, being a pirate, he had learned long ago never to let on to anyone what his thoughts were, and he wouldn't start doing so now. Thus, he plastered his roguish smile upon his tanned and soiled face and winked at the Englishman. "Point well taken, mate." 

The general's face turned a crimson color in disgust and outrage. "Take this sorry excuse for a pirate out of my sight. Throw him in the brig until we reach Port Royal. I don't want to see him until we dock. I hope you enjoy your stay aboard this ship, Mr. Sparrow, for this very well might be your last day alive...the gallows are sure to await your appointment."

"If I had a shilling for every time I heard that…" he muttered as two guards roughly grabbed him by the arms and led him down into the brig. "Must you be so rough?" he asked a young-faced soldier to his left. The guard merely wrinkled his nose in distaste and squeezed harder. 

"Well _that_ was completely unnecessary…" 

The smell of must and saltwater filled his nostrils as he was thrown uselessly into an extremely rusted and neglected cell. As he heard the shrill key turn in the lock, he forced himself to forget the events that had transpired despite the sorrow he felt rising in his throat that emanated from his heart…

His crew was dead. Every one of them. When they had fired upon the British Royal Navy, they had been less merciful than Jack had hoped. Cannon fire upon cannon fire rained down upon them as if they were in the deepest depths of hell. The thoughts of that fateful attack recycled inside his mind, making him wince in physical pain as he remembered seeing them take their last breaths in life, feeling the tangible guilt that now encircled his heart making it hard to breathe. Anguish like he had never known before washed over him, and he knew perfectly well that neither all of the lusty company of Tortuga nor all of the rum in the Caribbean could ever ease his intense suffering.

He had seen their deaths, he had heard their cries of pain. They had given their lives to protect him and his plan…he was the only one that could save countless lives, and his loyal crew knew that; he only had to explain it to them once. He remembered facing his comrades…no, his family…for the last time, seeing their weather-beaten faces, looking into their understanding eyes, eyes that had seen too much but had accepted it for what it was. There was a solemn gratitude, an unspoken fellowship among them that had made his heart swell with pride. They were pirates…damn good ones. May the ever-changing sea rest their souls.

Rubbing his bloodshot eyes the pirate shook his head, vaguely hoping he could eradicate the memories. _This is no time to mourn, _he thought, inhaling the salty air deeply. _That can be done later…_

As of now, his main priority was to get to Port Royal, to see Will and Elizabeth. He hoped that it wouldn't be too late, and that they both would be in good health….and, preferably, alive.

He sat down in a corner of the small, corroded brig, listening to the whisper of the surrounding water and the haunting moans of the rigging. And as desperately as he tried to focus on his plan, to concentrate fully on arriving in Port Royal, to push away the shards and scraps of reminiscences of his companions, it all was done in vain…he missed his crew. It was an undeniable fact, a shadow that haunted his thoughts and manipulated his feelings. Their faces and voices invaded his mind, leaving him with nothing but old recollections and new guilt. And that crucial question, the one that he had been trying to hard to suppress finally surfaced: _Had it been worth it?_

Yes. But the answer didn't make it any easier to accept. 

He had led a pirate's life for more years than he could remember. He had lived by it, sworn by it, gained from it and lost from it. The unforgiving and sometimes beneficial way of the pirate was the only life he had ever known.

But as he sat in the brig, without a home, without a ship, and, most painfully, without a crew, he realized to his dismay that his acceptance of the pirate's life didn't mean he was used to it. 

~*~

Ok. How did it go? Confused? Befuddled? Bewildered? GOOD! You will find out much, much, MUCH more next chapter…so please read and review. Let me know what you think! Other chapters will be longer…this is only a prologue of sorts to get you interested. Constructive criticism is undoubtedly and absolutely welcomed.


	2. Your Heart Belongs to the Sea

**Disclaimer: **Jerry Bruckheimer, you lucky person you. No, I don't own anything…or anyone for that matter. Not that I wouldn't mind though…

**A/N: **Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! I really appreciate them. I just got back from seeing PotC for the second time and I think that I am ready and in the mood to write the next chapter. So here I go! Enjoy!

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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

_Your Heart Belongs to the Sea_

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He hadn't been sleeping well…at all. Night after night he would finally give up after hours upon hours of restless flirtation with sleep. He would somewhat unceremoniously walk over to the window, push open the shutters and inhale the fresh and enticing scent of the brackish air that surrounded him. The ocean's clear and calming aroma sent a soothing sentiment over him, a pleasantness he had never encountered before. It seemed to clear his mind and miraculously send all of his worries into nonexistence. Finally, after many evenings of pondering the origins of the comfort it provided him, he finally realized why he appreciated it so much: it made him feel at home.

And now Will Turner stood looking out that very same window he had those previous nights before. He let the soft wind rustle his hair, spraying his face with the crisp essence of the sea. The sound of gentle breeze playing upon the waves blended in with Elizabeth's slow and rhythmic breathing behind him. He envied her ability to sleep so soundly, worriless and content. He hadn't been able to for days…

…he kept having dreams. Terrifyingly real nightmares that had come to him every night this week, lingering on his mind like as an unwelcome guest. They would haunt him, causing him alarming restlessness and bestowing upon him unfamiliar anxiety. He had never had nightmares of this magnitude…and the thought that they could be real was driving Will into despair.

… _Jack, tied up and bound at the feet, sitting in a brig. Bloodied, bruised, beaten, exhausted. The well-known smirk Jack often wore was gone, the familiar glimmer in his eye absent…_

_Will would try to help him, calling to him at the top of his lungs, but Jack did not hear him. Frustration made him want to scream out even louder...he would desperately struggled against unreal chains that bound him, trying unsuccessfully to reach the pirate. But the more he struggled, the more he knew his goal was to be futile…_

_Without warning a dark figure would emerge from the shadows…slowly and deliberately the figure's footsteps would echo against the molding walls of the brig until it stopped dead in front of Jack, standing with its head held high in a triumphant display of its power and control._

_The figure would take out his newly-polished and ornate sword, point it unwaveringly at Jack's throat, and utter in an eerily familiar raspy voice: "Where is he?" But prideful and loyal, Jack would not answer, apparently too weak to do so. He offered the figure only an expression of pure revulsion and hatred. This would cause the man to laugh, a laugh that terrified Will, a laugh that contained years of revengeful lust, undeniable abhorrence, complete evil…_

Luckily, that was where his nightmare usually stopped, sparing him from experiencing the cold, rock-hard feeling in his stomach known as dread.. However, tonight the dream disregarded Will's reluctance for it to continue. For the first time he had seen the threatening figure's face and had cried out in horror and surprise as he had turned, slowly, enabling Will to lay his eyes on the man whom he once thought of (with undeniable relief) as dead and gone. 

_Barbossa._

_And then, without warning, Barbossa would turn around and mutter to Jack in a rather pleased voice, "Thought you could kill me, eh? Oh, matey, the Curse has a mind of 'er own." And Will was left to thrash helplessly against the invisible ropes that restrained him as he watched Barbossa slowly raise his sword, ascending it towards the heavenly masts of the ship until it came down with a sickening sound._

_The sound, Will realized as he fought down the nausea to heave, was the sound of flesh being cut…the sound of Jack's throat being sliced open._

Even thinking about it as he was now riddled Will's heart with fear. He shoved the unnerving thoughts aside…he had been troubled by them in his sleep and had no desire to be haunted by them as he stood awake. Jack was like a brother to him, the only family he had ever had aside from his mother. He was the closest link to his father, the one remnant of Bill's life that Will could cling to. The fact that Jack could be dead, or a prisoner at the hands of Barbossa, made Will's stomach churn. 

_But Barbossa is dead, _he thought, narrowing his eyes towards the playfully winking stars. _I saw him die. He was shot through the heart…he can't be alive. They're nothing but childish dreams, but nonetheless so real…_

As he stared out into the bay watching the moored ships sluggishly bob up and down with the waves, he felt a warm and soothing hand on his shoulder. Turning, he looked into the delicate face of his wife. Sleep still occupied her eyes, but they also held a certain look of honest concern that made his heart fill with tenderness.

"What's wrong?" she asked groggily as she searched his face for an unforeseen answer. But he just shook his head and whispered, "Nothing, love. I just can't sleep."

"Don't lie to me, Will. You've been up this whole week staring out of that window."

Unaware that Elizabeth knew of his insomnia, Will was shocked (if not what somewhat impressed) by her perception. But he quickly moved to cover his surprise as all good pirates can by simply replying, "I just haven't been tired, love."

An air of disbelief threatened Elizabeth's delicate face as she softly shook her head. "I don't believe you, Will Turner."

"Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"I'm your husband," Will uttered, a lopsided smile appearing on his handsome face; it felt immensely good to say that. But the happiness he displayed was soon relinquished when Elizabeth replied, "You're also a pirate."

For some unknown reason, guilt filled the gut of his stomach. As he looked deeply into her almond eyes, the culpability traveled from his gut to his veins, circulating throughout his body. He loved her…he always had. He tenderly wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him and whispered, "I'm your husband first."

A relieved expression traveled silently across her face, but the shadow of an unsettling look still lingered. "I know. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Don't leave me like your father left your mother."

Will let go of her and stepped back. His breath caught in his lungs and stayed there while his brain absorbed what she had just said. His eyes searched her face for some logic behind her words but he could find none. "Why would I ever do that?" he uttered barely above a whisper, sounding angrier than he had intended. Growing up without a father had hurt him tremendously. He remembered the nights he would be awakened by his mother's sobs, the times he would see a father taking his son to fish…he could still hear other kids teasing him incessantly about not having a father and he remembered walking home, feeling both disgusted and deserted. He had grown to accept the absence of Bill, but somehow acceptance was the last thing he had ever wanted. He wanted a father…he had _needed_ a father. Perhaps that was why he had always hated pirates; he always assumed that his father would rather be with _them_ than his own son…

"Will," she replied, reaching out towards him. She must have realized how much she hurt him, for she now wore a look of regret. When he recoiled, she continued desperately, trying to ease the pain she had caused the man she loved. "I see you stare out of that window at night. I see you eyeing those ships, looking longingly at the ocean. I am not blind nor am I simple. You long to be sailing with Jack and his crew, aboard the _Black Pearl_. It's natural, Will!" she proclaimed when he gave her a look of uncertainty. "Your father was a pirate and whether you like to admit it or not, your heart belongs to the sea."

He felt his mind spinning as it heard the words that he had never wanted to hear….simply because he knew they were true. He knew his heart lay with the ocean; he had felt it call to him. It was true that he felt claustrophobic living in a house in Port Royal. The crisp wind stroking across his face, climbing the rigging, adjusting the masts, the soft tossing of the deck beneath him; he had noticed the absence of them all and had missed them all. 

But never in his life had he _ever_ considered leaving Elizabeth. No matter how loudly the sea cried out to him, no matter how much his soul desired to be among the waves, no matter how much his body ached with longing, he would never leave her. This, perhaps, was the only certainty in his life.

"I will _never_ do what my father did. I love you more than anything. More than being a pirate, more than sailing, more than the sea. You're the only thing that matters, Elizabeth. You're my life." He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, smelling the soft floral scent of her hair. She embraced him, and he reacted, squeezing her to him. "I love you, Elizabeth."

"I love you, too."

He turned his head to rest against hers, his face now turned towards the window. He looked out into the port and saw a small black speck moving slowly towards the docks upon the calm ocean. He squinted, raising his head just a little which enabled him to clearly see the British flag waving high upon the main mast…undoubtedly a ship belonging to the Royal Navy. But what was it doing docking this late at night in Port Royal?

"Will, what...?"

"Shhh." He put a finger to her lips as he strained his ears. He could detect no sounds out of the ordinary, but a familiar spine-tingling sensation ascended his back, traipsing up towards his neck. There was something…wrong. He couldn't pinpoint its oddity but he could not deny the hunch that there was a reason for his interest in this ship…an awareness that tugged at his mind and could not be ignored.

He slowly let go of Elizabeth and walked towards the door, grabbing his cloak and throwing it hastily over his shoulders. "I'm going to the docks."

"What? Why? What's wrong?" she responded, more curious than alarmed.

He just shook his head and reached for the doorknob, resting his hand upon the cool metal. "I don't know, but there's something wrong…I can feel it."

Knowing there was nothing she could do to dissuade him, she grabbed for her cloak which was lying on an ornately carved chair, flung there without care. "I'm going too."

"No, Elizabeth. There's no need-"

"Have you forgotten who I am?" she asked, and Will knew it was the start of a one-way conversation during which it was best to keep his mouth shut. "I sailed the ocean blue with a bunch of half-dead hell-bound pirates who wanted you dead. Not only did I stay with you, I convinced Commodore to look for you after Barbossa took you captive. I saved your life, Will Turner, and I'm not about to let you leave me here at home like some useless house-wife who has nothing better to do than knit and cook while you go gallivanting about the docks at some ungodly hour at night looking for adventure!"

Perhaps it was her persistence, or perhaps it was the completely outraged look on her face. It could have been her flushed cheeks or her eyes, once so compassionate and loving that now were narrowed and apparently insulted. Whatever it was, it suddenly made him smile. "That's the woman I married, isn't it?"

"And don't forget it, lest I need remind you again."

Smiling, he nodded. "Come on, then." He strode over to her, picked up her cloak (which was discarded violently onto the floor in her unladylike fit of annoyance), gently fastened it about her neck, and grabbed her hand, leading her out into the sleeping streets of Port Royal. 

The night air was crisp and immediately as he stepped out of the warmed house the tingling sensation made its presence known once more. Squinting, he could make out the ship he had seen before. It was now stationed at the nearest dock, patiently waiting as its passengers filed on to the dock. He sped up his deliberate pace, still not knowing why he was there or of what the significance of the ship was. All he knew was that something in his mind was telling him there was more to this ship than met the eye.

And as they approached the _Intrepid_ he knew why.

"Jack!"

Jack Sparrow, tied at the hands with rope, stood next to a fat general known as Ovington. A youthful happiness clutched at Will's heart; it had been too long since he had seen his old friend…two years, to be exact. He had missed him greatly and the sight of him made him feel carefree once more. Yet something in Jack's face alarmed him…it was a familiar look. As Jack and Will's eyes met, he realized as he studied Jack's somber, dull eyes, that they donned the same look he had seen in them in his recurring nightmares. Trying to ignore this obvious fact and address the task at hand, the childish grin faded from his face. He was about to speak when Jack took the liberties himself.

"My fair greetings, Mr. and Mrs. Will Turner. So sorry you had to catch me like this…I rather prefer iron hand cuffs to rope. They're so much more fashionable these days, or so I hear tell."

Even though he spoke with the same sardonic and blithe tone, Will detected that it was somewhat forced. But he had known Jack long enough to suspect intentions of avoiding the suspicions of the British general, so he played along.

"So it is the infamous Jack Sparrow…oh, pardon me…_Captain Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" he returned, bowing slightly, a grin of mockery apparent on his handsome features._

"Ahh, you see, general? Mr. Turner seems to think I warrant a…how did you put it? An _honorary title?_" A familiar half-drunken smirk spread across his face as he winked at the officer. "So if you would so kindly refer to me as _Cap-"_

"Mr. Turner, Mrs. Turner," the general said loudly, interrupting Jack as he approached the couple. "How can I be of service?"

Will cleared his throat, realizing he was not sure of what to say. He shot a sideways glance at Elizabeth who stood, smiling extravagantly, at Jack; no matter how much she might have detested him, Will knew she missed him too. Looking once more at the general he spoke. "I…saw your ship pull into dock, General Ovington. It is a fairly unusual occurrence at this time of night, especially since Port Royal is not…_graced_ by the presence of many ships of the British Royal Navy. I was inquiring if everything was of the ordinary," he finished properly, all the while eyeing Jack for a signal as to what he was doing in handcuffs in the possession of a fat general standing in Port Royal, the last place a man like Jack Sparrow would ever want to end up, considering his previous experiences in the port city.

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Turner," bowed the general stiffly while eyeing Will cautiously, "but everything is quite under control, thank you."

He nodded, unsure of how to waste more time. He studied Jack who mouthed behind the general's back, "_Prison"._

Nodding in murky comprehension, Will smiled at the general. "Thank you, general, for your time. But may I inquire what Jack-I mean, _Captain Sparrow's crime is?" Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw Jack smile as he turned toward the general smiling, apparently intent on rubbing his "title" in the fat face of Ovington, who huffed haughtily and replied quickly (as to avoid another interruption by the pirate), "He is charged with attacking the British Royal Navy and destroying one of her vessels."_

He heard Elizabeth gasp beside him as he too reeled from the news. _Attack the British Royal Navy? That's suicide! Jack knows that, he thought. He turned to Jack and saw a look of complete resignation in his body. He slouched, ever so slightly, so that no one but a fellow pirate would notice. But Will had never seen him look so helpless._

"When is his trial?" Elizabeth breathed, gaining composure before her husband.

"It shall be the day after next. I'm afraid the outlook for _Mr. Sparrow does not look keen," replied General Ovington, reaching his hand out to Will who took it hesitantly and shook it limply. "Good day, Mr. Turner. Mrs. Turner," he bowed. He moved off and shouted behind him, "Take that disgusting villainous rascal from my sight."_

Will moved docilely to intercept the guards who took a hold Jack's arms, but saw him shake his head vehemently. Perplexed, he shot him a questioning glance. As the guards ushered him off to the Port Royal reformatory, he heard Jack mumble to him, "Tomorrow night. Make sure the moon's out."

Completely confused, Will stared after his friend who was now swaying and singing in an entirely drunken fashion, knocking clumsily against the restraining soldiers, causing them to sway with him ironically. Will nearly smiled as he noticed that Jack was singing, his somewhat incomprehensible words echoing throughout the port. 

"We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves…drink up, me hearties, Yo Ho!

~*~

Yeah, ok, so I lied. I don't think this cleared up much more for you all…I'm sorry. But I want to keep it like the movie…a glimpse here, a clue here, and then BAM you understand. Is it working? Constructive criticism is welcomed, of course! 

Oh, P.S. In the end, Jack is singing _A Pirates Life for Me. _I hope you enjoyed.

Drink up, me hearties, Yo Ho! 


	3. Bloody Heroes

**Disclaimer: **The plot is mine. Everything else isn't. 

**A/N: **Hello, me scabbers! How do you like it so far? Thanks for all of the amazing feedback…it is much appreciated. This chapter will clear up more for all of you….yes, even you, darkdancer. ;-)

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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

_Bloody Heroes_

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_Make sure the moon's out._

He hoped that would prepare Will. But as he sat in the prison, he knew nothing could prepare him for what he was about to say. He lightly pounded the back of his head against the wall he was currently propped against, sitting with his knees bent and his back straight in the corner of his cell. He hated being in enclosed spaces…they reminded him of being inside a coffin. He had seen too many of his comrades inside one of those, and had no desire to be in one anytime soon. Unfortunately, as events were playing out, he very well could find himself in one. 

Or worse…

He cussed quietly, angry with himself for being so careless. He had thought he knew the curse's capabilities. He had known its fury, its evil desires along with its ability to wreak havoc on all who upset it. But he had never counted on being singled out by it, and now the curse was upon him; only he could prevent it from spreading onto others, tearing their lives to shreds just like it had started to do to his. How he was going to do it…well, according to him, that was an entirely different problem. He needed to think logically and clearly...

_Logic and clarity, _Jack mused, grinning _Those__ two became luxuries that a fair friend of rum like me does not have._

He knew, however, there was no denying it. Now it was up to him to save lives and help strangers, time for him to be a hero…

_Bloody heroes. _U_ndeniably brave, undoubtedly stupid, and entirely overrated._

He had never counted on being a hero. He had done very few things for others and had the lasting reputation of being an insufferable self-centered and egotistical annoyance to the civilized human race. But then again, he had never counted on being responsible for thousands of people's souls, either. He had once heard a bartender in Tortuga tell him that he was a good man blinded by evil desires. How Jack remembered this was a miracle in itself; he had been so drunk that night that he eventually ended up somehow lying face-up in a ditch, being pecked and prodded by a scourge of chickens and hens on a local farm. He smiled at the memory…Bill had laughed, of course, and told him that he fit in nicely with the livestock…

A jingling of keys tore him from his thoughts. He turned to the right and saw a scruffy looking dog trotting down the stairs, keys in his mouth, tail wagging. He grinned, remembering the last time he had been in that prison and the last time he had been graced with bad luck from that bloody animal. He carefully looked around, and, being quite careful to stay out of the moonlight, he crawled to the front of the cell. Kneeling and frantically reaching through the corroded cell bars towards the dog that was patiently sitting five feet away, Jack pleaded in a voice dripping with honey, "Come here, doggy! I'm all by my onesy, I'm not gonna hurt ye. Why are you looking at me like that? Come here, you rotten, smelly, slimy piece of piranha-eaten filth…" 

"His name is Kibbler."

Startled, Jack looked up into the handsomely young face of Will Turner. He grinned, slightly embarrassed at being caught in a desperate act of foolishness that could possibly be very detrimental to his reputation. "Well, at least his name isn't Jack."

Will grinned curiously. "And why would it be?"

"I have the uncanny ability to encourage owners to name their pets in my honor."

Still not certain what Jack was speaking of, he asked, "How are you?"

The pirate stood up and dusted himself off very slowly; Will had the impression that he was evading the question. Finally, when the query was no longer avoidable, Jack suddenly found interest in the sandy, dirty floor and responded in a flat and unemotional tone. "They're dead." 

"Who?"

Jack looked up at him and the younger man saw such a whirlwind of emotion that he almost felt the need to avoid Jack's gaze. "My crew." Will's mouth dropped open as he looked into the defeated face of one of the most victorious pirates ever known. Unsure of what to say, Will was relieved when it was Jack who spoke again. "When we fired upon the British Navy, they were less forgiving than we expected."

Will lowered his eyes to the floor, unsure of what to say until he heard himself mumble stupidly yet sincerely, "I'm sorry."

"Me too." It was the first tender thing he had ever heard Jack say. Those two words held such culpability that Will felt his heart tug and his throat tighten. As self-centered as Jack had been rumored to be, he had lost his entire crew. And in the pirate world, when a crew dies, the captain is held responsible. But as swiftly as the emotion came, it left. "You haven't been able to sleep, have you?"

Shocked, Will could only narrow his eyes. How did he know of this?

Jack nodded without the response, his face turning blankly towards the ground. "Neither have I."

"What are you talking about?"

"The curse."

Will coughed huskily to mask his gape and muttered in disbelief, "It's back?"

Jack wore a wistful grin. "It never left." He could see Will's young face contort with both confusion and skepticism. He knew that it was hard for the boy to comprehend so much in such little time. "Maybe this will help." Without notice, he slowly stepped forward and pulled back the arm of his right sleeve. He moved over to the window and stuck his arm in the beam of moonlight that had been spilling into his cell.

He heard Will gasp as he looked to his arm, now basking in the glow of the moon. The flesh had disappeared, leaving nothing there but bare bone.

"The curse is more vindictive than I had imagined," he whispered, carefully studying his arm, rotating it slowly as if in melancholy admiration. He looked back upon Will's utterly shocked face and wrenched his arm from beneath the light, abruptly growing self-conscious. It immediately turned back into flesh. "Its hunger wasn't satisfied with the return of its gold. It wasn't filled with the murder of Barbossa, either. The gods are angry, mate, and they're angry at us."

Will brought a trembling hand to his eyes and rubbed them. "This can't be happening…"

"It is. It's real, as real as it gets. The curse is back, and it's hunting us. It's only a matter of time before it gets you too."

He snapped his head up to look directly at Jack. His eyes grew wide as he croaked, "Elizabeth?"

He shook his head expectantly and waved a hand dismissively. "The curse has no use for her…she's a woman and they tend to be bad luck in the pirating world. It does, however, have use for us."

Will wondered how Jack could so calmly be talking about this. But he forced himself to calm down and responded with as much control as possible, "And what would that be?"

"Revenge."

"Revenge?" Will repeated dumbly. Now his face felt numb….

"Aye. Do you think Barbossa and his crew were the only bloody idiots who spent those golden trinkets? Do you think they were the only ones who used them for pleasure, for ale, for success?" Jack walked closer to Will until they were almost face to face, separated only by the bars of the cell. "Of course not. And it's a fool's folly to think so, as I did."

Will stepped back, eyeing Jack as if he were a stranger. "No…."

"The gods want vengeance, mate. But the curse can't act by its lonesome. It needs a crew…and a ship."

"But who…" he started, and Jack knew that the boy hadn't grasped the enormity of it all yet. But there was time for that, so he offered the struggling Will a half-smile and said, "Barbossa."

"_What?"_ But Will had heard him quite clearly. 

Jack looked into the other's eyes and muttered, "He's as dead as the livin' sea."

"But…you shot him. I saw him die! You did too! He can't be alive …" he murmured, shaking his head. "It's impossible…"

"No, it's _improbable_," Jack corrected in his impetuous tone. "But the curse has a mind of 'er own." Will could only blink in the moments of thick silence that followed. Jack had expected his response and inquired knowingly, "What is it?"

"I've heard that remark before."

A smirk spread across the pirate's face. "Looks as if we've been havin' the same dreams, laddie."

Jack tried not to laugh as Will's mouth dropped open again. "But how-"

"No time," Jack hastily replied, waving his hand, still struggling to suppress a snicker. "Here's the fairy-tale version of it, family-safe. Barbossa's back. So are his half-dead chums. They're working for the gods, helping them to settle the score. They've struck a deal, mate: bestow the curse upon all who have used the tokens for his or her own benefits, and they're free as a seabird from the curse themselves…savvy?"

"But how does this involve us?" Will asked slowly.

Jack sighed loudly and put his hands on his hips, displaying his famous exasperation. "The curse has already found me, and it's a-comin' for you. So then, when we're under it's control, we can help carry out their intentions. The curse knows an enemy when it sees it…and we're the enemy…savvy? It's the old pirate philosophy: if you can't beat 'em, control 'em."

Will swallowed, and Jack knew he didn't catch the joke. _Just like his father, Jack mulled, __takes life too damn seriously… _

"It's going to control us?"

"Aye," he responded airily, now searching the floor for his misplaced sword. He finally found it and picked it up, studying and handling it with the utmost care as if it were a precious jewel. "But it's not in control of me yet. Only when we fall into the hands of Barbossa and his sorry excuse for a motley crew are we at risk of being enslaved to the Aztec gods."

Will shook his head, apparently still dazed and somewhat confused. "I don't understand-"

"I didn't expect you to," he answered gruffly, eyeing the floor to Will's left. "I'll clear up the details later. Now, if you'd be so kind," he nodded downwards.

Will peered down to see the scruffy mutt sitting patiently, the keys still in his mouth. He reached down and took the keys easily, eyeing the tail-wagging dog. He turned the keys and released Jack without conflict. As he smoothed his mustache, adjusted his belt and fixed his hair, he could feel Will's impatient and anxious gaze burn through the top of his head.

_Just like his father…_

"Jack."

He looked into the eyes of a splitting image of Bootstrap Bill Turner and grunted. He continued to fix his hair and straighten his hat; he had an image to uphold, after all.

"Is Elizabeth safe?"

He paused before he responded. He looked over his best friend's son, saw how much he had matured, noticed his overzealous pride and his unbeatable determination had not faltered in the slightest. After a few seconds, he slowly and cautiously replied. 

"Yes."

Will nodded in complete relief, looking down at the floor. "I suppose I'll have to leave her...for her own safety…"

"You're not leaving me in this godforsaken port." 

Jack and Will whirled around to their left to see Elizabeth, in her nightgown, hands on her hips, glaring at them angrily. 

Jack smiled. "Ahhh. I knew she found me irresistible," he commented, outstretching his hands to Elizabeth.

"Oh, Jack, am I that obvious?" Elizabeth asked seductively, walking slowly forward, batting her eyes. "I tried to hide my emotions," she continued, walking within inches of Jack's face. She raised her hand to play with his locks of hair, smiling softly. Jack found he had a hard time breathing as his smile grew wider. "I _do _find you irresistible." Seconds passed, but they felt like an eternity to Jack. He stared into her eyes, his confidence swelling. Women just couldn't resist him…

But then, without warning, her grin disappeared along with her seductiveness and her usual crisp response added, "Irresistibly revolting." She turned abruptly from him to face Will, and Jack's self-assurance and smile faded. But he had detected a certain look in her eyes; a look of friendship that went too long unattended.

"I'm coming with you two sorry, would-be conspirators," she said as Will opened his mouth to protest. He merely smiled and nodded, reaching and embracing her, softly kissing her forehead.

Jack cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. "Now that we know who wears the britches in this relationship," he started in his usual drunken-like manner, "we can be on our way."

"And how exactly do you expect to kill half-dead blood-thirsty revenge-seeking pirates?" Elizabeth inquired, throwing back her long cinnamon hair to look at his tanned face and roguish grin. Jack noticed the same friendly look in her eyes, and he was glad.

"Ahh, lass, you forget one thing."

"And what's that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled as he turned from them, flinging his sword over his shoulder.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." 

~*~

I know some of you might be confused still, but that's my plan. Things will be cleared up next chapter, I promise!

Thanks for all of the reviews…I really appreciate them.


	4. RUMbles and Knives

**Disclaimer: **Only own the plot. And Jack Sparrow….ah hah! Tricked you, didn't I? Yeah, didn't think so…

**A/N: **You guys rock. No, seriously. Reviews are life…thanks so much for reviewing. I edited the first three chapters a bit…added a few more quirky "Jack Sparrow" lines for you…if you care to check them out and let me know if they're any better, I'd greatly appreciate it. BUT NOW, chapter four…

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_RUMbles__ and Knives_

She hadn't been on a boat in so long…perhaps that was why she felt so ill. Sea sickness had never rendered her as useless as she was at this very moment: hanging over the railing of the _HMS Sea Farer, she retched again, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, hoping to get the humiliation over with as quickly as possible. Elizabeth could sense Will standing behind her, nervously watching her for any dangerous swaying. She had already fainted once, and unfortunately no one had been there to break her fall. She had a nasty bump on the back of her head to show for it. _

As she heaved one last time, she could hear Jack say, "Ohh, that was a hefty one." Completely embarrassed, knowing that Jack was thoroughly enjoying himself, Elizabeth sniffed, straightened to a very temporary stand and immediately swayed into the awaiting arms of her husband.

"Your bonnie lass doesn't seem to be holdin' out quite as we expected," Jack called again. Elizabeth turned her head to see him snickering quietly, standing at the helm, carefully steering the stolen ship. 

"Shut up you dirty, good-for-nothing…"

"Pirate?" Jack offered, now looking at his peculiar compass. He snapped it shut and peered out at the horizon. "That's very unoriginal," he concluded in a mockingly hurt-tone. "If and when you decide to come up with a unique insult, I'd be obliged to hear it, Elizabeth." 

"It's Mrs. Turner to _you_," Elizabeth growled as she fought her way out of Will's comforting grasp. Never had she felt so dependent on anyone before…it was driving her mad. Now standing without Will's help but still swaying dangerously, she glared at the newly found captain of the _HMS Sea Farer, watching him drink from a flask at his side._

Jack noticed Elizabeth staring at his flask treacherously, and he hastily shoved it back in his pocket. "If you so much as _come near this flask…"_

Elizabeth took the cue and smiled evilly. "Now Jack," she asked innocently, "why would I _ever do a thing like that?"_

Pleased with her answer as well as the uneasy look on Jack's face, she turned to Will who eyed them curiously. "What was that about?" he asked Elizabeth.

She looked at him, happy for the excuse not to think about her nausea. "Didn't I ever tell you about how I signaled the Port Royal Navy to Jack and my destination when Barbossa left us stranded?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well," she started with much enthusiasm, "you see, there was this storage of rum-"

"OK, thank you very much milady for your lovely story-time edicts," Jack interrupted loudly, trying to avoid her triumphant gaze. "But we have much left to do-"

"Oh, this will only take a second," she assured him, grinning wildly and turning back to Will who looked at her in complete amazement. "So, I figured, since the entire civilized navy was out looking for me, why not signal them by burning the r-"

"Mrs. Turner!" Elizabeth turned to look at him in response to his interruption that had been in a higher pitch than she had expected. "Can we _please_ avoid this topic?" he asked uneasily, now suddenly fascinated with the rings on his left hand.

"You _burned_ the rum?" Will asked, an incredulous look overcoming his features.

Elizabeth saw Jack flinch as if he were slapped upon the mention of his precious drink. "Yes, I _burned the rum,_" she repeated loudly, seeing him flinch again.

"Wait, you burned all of the-"

"IF YOU WOULD BE SO KIND!" Jack shouted in an almost-whimper like fashion. Elizabeth smiled as she saw the hurt look on his face. He never would forget that…

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jack," she apologized in a stingingly sweet undertone. "Does it still bother you to talk about how I burned-"

"I'LL BE IN MY QUARTERS!" he bellowed, completely abandoning his post at the wheel and marching off to the captain's lodgings, slamming the doors dramatically behind him. 

Victorious, Elizabeth now had time to realize that she was close to being sick again. Running towards the railing she heaved, coughing and sweating. As she breathed heavily, waiting for the next wave of nausea to strike, she noticed something floating in the water, lazily adrift in the swishing waves. She watched it wander nearer to the starboard side and noticed that it was a knife…ornately carved, unsheathed, looking fairly new…

…and fairly familiar.

_I've seen that before, _she told herself, rubbing her eyes to make sure it wasn't a hallucination brought on by her incessant sickness. But the knife was real, and it was floating ever closer.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her eyes growing wide in recognition. "Will!" She turned unsteadily and was about to fall when she found herself caught in her husband's arms. "Will…it's the knife!"

She looked up into his puzzled face. "What?"

"The _knife_! Barbossa's knife, the one he used for the blood ritual!" she insisted, pointing toward the water. 

Unsure of her husband's reaction, she was reassured when he took her seriously. He led her to the railing and looked over himself, and Elizabeth saw him squint in apparent recognition. A few seconds later he drew back from the railing so abruptly that he almost knocked over Elizabeth as he whirled around, Then he still holding tightly to her. "Go tell Jack," he urged her, looking into her alarmed brown eyes. She tore herself away from his arms and walked as steadily (and quickly) as she could muster to the captain's residence. She noted, to her dismay, that the winds were picking up and the waves were tossing the boat ever more roughly than before. As if it was what she needed…

Grabbing onto the door handle for dear life, she swung them open to reveal Jack, sitting in an ornate chair, his head in his right hand and his compass lying open in his left. He heard her clumsy entrance and rolled his eyes. She opened her mouth without preamble, panic rising in her throat. But he spoke first.

"YES! THE RUM IS GONE! WHY IS THE RUM GONE? I KNOW WHY IT'S GONE! IT'S BECAUSE YOU BURNED IT!" he exploded, throwing his arms up into the air and standing, knocking over his chair. Shocked by his reaction and still shaken by the sight of the knife, all Elizabeth could do was stand there, feeling the pitch and roll of the ship beneath her. When Jack looked at her, his face immediately softened and a soft smile of embarrassment came to his lips. "You're not here to discuss the rum, then, I take it."

"The knife…" was all she could mutter. Between her ailment and her horror, Elizabeth was, for the first time in her life, at a loss for words. 

Jack merely peered at her. "Ahh, lass, I think you'll be needing a pirate's nap."

Elizabeth shook her head and said, "Jack…Jack. Jack…" She kept trying to tell him, but all that would escape her lips was his name.

"Yes, that's what they call me. Actually, it's Cap-"

"The knife, Barbossa's knife, it's floating in the water off of the starboard bow," she croaked. Her insides were squirming and tightening themselves around her middle; she could feel the cold sensation of panic creep slowly up her esophagus and lodge itself in her throat. She prayed that Jack would take her seriously and that she wouldn't have to speak again to convince him of her sincerity. But the look of alarm that she had never seen before that suddenly appeared on Jack's face proved to her that he had no doubts about her honesty. He narrowed his eyes, and Elizabeth realized he wasn't looking at her, but to the door behind her. Slowly his eyes moved back towards her face and he studied her as if she had just said something short of a revelation, and suddenly she felt extremely weak…she was unexpectedly so tired…

She felt herself fall, but she could not react. She simply became limp, knowing she was fainting, but not having the strength to do anything to correct it. She braced herself, expecting the hard impact of the wooden deck…

…but it never came.

She felt herself being carried out onto the deck of the _HMS Sea Farer in the arms of Jack Sparrow. Usually she would squirm, not wanting to be helped by someone with whom she was in a never-ending competition with, but she felt so ill, so frail…_

"What happened?" came Will's cry.

"She fainted."

"Fainted? She's ill…"

"No." Jack's response was cautious if not…scared.

"What do you mean no? She has sea sickness! She said herself-"

"Mate, she didn't have it before when we was aboard the _Pearl. She said herself that she never had it before. She figured it was because she hadn't been on a ship in two years…but that isn't it," he added thoughtfully._

"Then what is?" Will demanded. Elizabeth vaguely felt herself being placed from Jack's arms into her husband's. She tried to protest that she wasn't unconscious, that she could hear them…but her eyes refused to open and her lips refused to work. 

_So tired…_

"They're close," he muttered, and she could feel her heart speed up in nervous anticipation.

"They?"

"Barbossa and company."

All that could be heard now was the wind whistling through the masts and the creaking of the swaying rigging. The waves were now crashing against the ship harder than before, and Elizabeth could feel the dank humidity start to form on her skin.

"Are you saying that Elizabeth gets unwell each time Barbossa is close?" Will asked in a stupor.

"Aye. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"But-"

"No time, no time," he interrupted, and Elizabeth felt herself being carried across the deck. "Put her on my bed. She needs rest, and we need to get our lonesome selves away from here." Elizabeth felt the comfortable softness of the mattress as Will carefully laid her down on the bed, covering her with a quilt and kissing her forehead lovingly.

"Will she be okay?" came the concerned question.

"Yes, yes, she'll be fine," Jack responded dismissively. 

"But how-"

"No more bloody questions, _please?" he begged._

"You owe me a lot of explanations, Jack," her husband growled as she heard footsteps retreating towards the door. 

_She was so tired…_

"I owe a lot of people a lot of things but that doesn't mean I allotted a lot of those things to a lot of those people, savvy?"

A confused silence followed his words, and during those passing serene moments she felt a warm drowsiness creep over her, calming her thoughts and gently easing her tense muscles. She welcomed the sleep, but before the warmness engulfed her she heard Jack's voice once more.

"Will! Come here. While she's out cold …I need you to help me hide the rum."

~*~

Did you like? Yes? No? Please review! I thought this was a light-hearted chapter…and one that was fun to write as well.

Thanks, me hearties, for all of your reviews. They're greatly appreciated.


	5. The Opportune Moment

**Disclaimer: **Except for my foolish fantasizing of owning Jack Sparrow, I own nothing but the plotline. Grrrr….I HATE saying that. Now, where's my rum?

**A/N: **Ok. So I understand you guys must be confused. But as I said before: I'm kind of making this like the movie. You get a clue here and a clue there, and then all of a sudden you understand. I know you're thinking "Why does Elizabeth get sick every time Barbossa is near?" or "What's this whole deal with the curse?" or "Is Jack Sparrow really under the influence of the curse…can he eat?" I know all of those questions. But just give me time to explain. Much appreciated!

****

**Pirates of the Caribbean**

****

_The Opportune Moment_

He stood at the wheel, looking over the cerulean waters in a setting sun. He had been standing there for at least four hours, endlessly searching for any sign of Barbossa and his crew. Fortunately, there had been nothing so much as a whisper of Barbossa's name, nothing so much as the mysterious glow of fog that might cover any ship that wanted to avoid being seen. 

The crisp wind rustled his russet hair, tickling his face, playing about his neck. He stood with his eyes closed, breathing in the freshly free scent of vastness, hearing the lapsing of the waves, feeling the soft roll of the ship. He felt liberated, carefree, welcomed. The sea was his only home, the waves his only air, the ship his only pride and joy. Without them, he was nothing.

_"You're nothing."_

Those stinging words resonated in his mind, mercilessly corroding his thoughts. He had been told he was worth absolutely nothing for more years than he could remember….but never had those words hurt more than that night his best friend had said them to him…

_"You're nothing."_

_He stood facing his closest comrade, a merchant by name, a pirate by trade. His brown eyes were downcast, foggy and unresponsive. His arms were on his hips, and Jack noticed his labored breathing despite his clenched jaw. Jack felt an omnipresent guilt accompanied by an unexplainable sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was angered, saddened, fearful and apprehensive all at once, and the influx of emotions caused his mind to spin uncontrollably._

_How had it come to this?_

_"You're not going to fight it, are you?" his friend asked again, still not meeting his gaze._

_Jack shook his head. "A fool's folly, mate."_

_Bootstrap Bill Turner raised his eyes from the deck and looked up into Jack's eyes. "A fool's folly the day I ever thought highly of you, Jack Sparrow."_

_He felt his heart break. This friend, a brother to him, the only family he had, had lost faith in him. Looking at Bill, Jack could see anger and suppressed compassion dancing across his tanned face. No amount sarcastic jesting or rum could resurrect the now-dead feelings his heart encompassed. _

_"Whatever happened to the adventurous Jack Sparrow? The one who told me 'Lose life only after you've lived it'? Who taught me everything I know, everything I _need_ to know, to make it in this world? You did. And now you're letting this disgusting excuse for a mutineer, Barbossa, send you onto some forsaken island with nothing but one shot in a pistol."_

_Alarmed, Jack signaled to Bill to quiet down. Unfortunately, it was too late. Barbossa, along with the crew, had already heard him. With his hands bound he watched hopelessly as the mutinous first-mate approached Bill slowly, his eyes wide with surprise, a smirk rising to his lips. "So, Bootstrap, you have a problem with me, I hear?"_

_"Don't do anything stupid," he pleaded to Bill, his hands clasped together. He had always been loyal to Jack to the point of stupidity, and he knew that idiocy didn't set well with an insubordinate crew._

_"Bloody damn well I do," Bill spat in return to Barbossa's inquiry. "You and your so-called crew are nothing but mutinous scoundrels and traitors to the title of pirate."_

_"…and that's what I meant by stupid." Jack concluded, his heart sinking. Bill Turner…didn't know when to keep his mouth shut to save his own life…he didn't know when it was necessary to be self-centered and barbaric like the rest._

_Horrible pirate._

_Damn good man._

_"Well, your trust is something we shall have to remedy, isn't it, men?" Barbossa asked the crew who answered with indistinguishable grunts and nodding heads. Jack helplessly watched as a man known as Scrunger took a hold of Bill, tying his hands behind his back with rope. Bill's face was now unmistakably housing the look of a man who was enduring an internal struggle. He wasn't a fool; Bill knew he had gone too far, and he knew he would pay the price for it. Barbossa sneered dangerously and said, "Or maybe the bottom of the sea will remedy it for you…?" _

_Jack struggled against his makeshift handcuffs, desperately trying to free himself in vain. But Barbossa quickly approached the former captain, drew his sword and pointed it at him threateningly. "That plank is looking awfully lonely, matey. I think it's time for you to walk it."_

_Jack gulped, ignoring Barbossa's threats and focusing entirely on Bill. He was going to miss him…bloody hell, why did he have to be so stupid? He had a wife and son to look after...loyalty didn't matter when it came to piracy. The only time it mattered was when a pirate had a family he was responsible for. And now, because of Bill's unwavering loyalty, he would end up in Davey Jones' locker._

_As if Bill read his mind, he called out over the heads of Barbossa and crew, still being restrained by Scrunger, "Jack, look after my wife and son. Promise me…as a brother."_

_Jack fought back the knotted sensation in his throat and could only bring himself to nod. _

_"And how do ye s'pose he'll be able to do that from an island in the middle of the sea?" Barbossa boasted to his men who laughed stupidly._

_"He'll find a way. He's Jack Sparrow."_

_Bill's response drew an immediate smile to Jack's face as he looked gratefully into the eyes of the only family member he had left. He swore, at that moment, facing Bill Turner, that he would look after his wife and son…_

The taste of saltwater brought Jack back to the present. Unsure of where the sensation came from he lifted a hand to his face and felt a sticky wetness…a warm sense that he recognized to be tears. Furiously wiping his eyes with the back of his stained white shirt, he scolded himself silently. _You bloody mess. You're turning soft, Jack Sparrow._

He inhaled deeply a slow, deliberate breath. There hadn't been a day that passed that he hadn't thought of Bill, but somehow that memory had come to him so freshly and realistically that it had caught him off guard. Rumor had it that Jack Sparrow never cried in his life. But, then again, rumors were just that: rumors. Figments of peoples' imaginations, contrived and twisted into some ethereal truth. The honest certainty was that Jack Sparrow had cried only twice since he was old enough to remember. Once was when he had heard in Tortuga what Barbossa had done to Bill.

And the second had been just then.

"Jack?"

He turned away from the distant horizon to look upon Will Turner. Standing with his hands on his hips, squinting up at him and shielding his eyes from the blinding sunlight, Jack could not help but smile. He looked exactly like Bill; for heaven's sake, he stood exactly like him too. Despite the uncanny resemblance, Jack knew there were _distinct_ differences. The most obvious one was that Will was less prone to adventures than his father had been. But Jack knew that would change…

"Is Elizabeth going to be alright?"

He rolled his eyes obviously in exasperation. "For all of the gold and riches in the world, boy, would you stop asking about her? Damn annoying, really."

Expecting that answer, Will ignored it. "She doesn't look right," he added, studying Jack's face. If he hadn't been mistaken, he thought he had seen a look of anxiety flicker across the pirate's expression…but it disappeared too quickly for him to be sure.

"Of course she doesn't look right," he said glibly turning back to the wheel. "She can't stand not being with me. It's a tough job, turning down women, it really is…but it's a job in need of doing."

He heard Will sigh and then reply, "Well how about doing _your _job and giving me some explanations."

He paused. Somehow he felt that it was not the time for another sardonic comment. "What explanations do you fancy?"

"The curse-"

"Bloody hell, I knew I shouldn't have asked you that," Jack said, slapping his head with a jeweled hand. "I can't give you information, mate," he continued, turning to look at Will, "until I know my theories prove as right as the wind."

A heavy pause filled the air, and somehow, through a pirate's intuition or otherwise, Jack knew what Will wanted to talk about.

"Your father was a terrible a pirate."

From his peripheral vision, Jack saw Will's mouth fall open. "What? But you said-"

"Mate, if you haven't learned by now, then you're embarrassingly thick. I'm a PIRATE. This means I tend to say things that aren't true." Will, still taken aback, crossed his arms and waited for Jack to continue. "To be a good pirate, you need no connections. No lass at home, no baby in a bonnet, no conscience, no selflessness. It's a cutthroat world. Kill or be killed. Your father didn't see it that way. Everything to him had to be fair, loyal, just….what have you. His conscience prevented him from becoming one of the best pirates these seas had ever seen. The absence of selfishness clouded his mind; he always put others first. He put me first…he stood up for me when I was being stranded…"

Will was shocked to see a look of despair sweep over Jack's tanned face. "That's why he's at the bottom of the ocean. Because of me."

Will knew he wasn't meant to hear that last sentence. He knew Jack meant to keep it within the confines of his mind, within his heart as it saturated in guilt. Jack felt responsible for his father's death, and in his own way, he was making it up to his loyal friend by looking after his son. A wave of warm gratitude washed over Will; it appeared that Jack had more to him than women and rum.

As Will opened his mouth to ask him where they were going, the awkward silence that had once ensued was broken by a shrill cry…a cry that ripped through Jack's mind. He knew that cry…only a pirate would know that cry…a pirate who had been mutinied against…

He turned to the starboard side and saw a ship, one of the biggest he had ever seen, heading straight towards them, slicing through the waves as if they were nothing but air. The wind suddenly picked up speed, and Jack looked over to see the approaching ship's charcoal black sails fill with speed. High above the rigging snapped the Jolly Roger, jovially waving in mockery. Only one man could be on that ship…

"Barbossa," Jack mumbled gravely.

He turned to Will, whose eyes were wide with surprise. "Get Elizabeth, make sure she's alright. Tend to the rigging, mast the sails. We're going to need to outrun them. We can't fight them by our lonesome…we'll never win."

"We can't outrun them!" Will protested as he ran to the side of the ship, gazing in alarm upon the advancing ship. "They've gained too much on us." As he looked at the ship, he saw the crew hanging by the rigging, swords drawn, teeth barred. They were chanting eerily, barely audible over the splashing waves and the whirling wind. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized what was about to happen; they were about to be boarded. "We stay and fight!" he concluded bravely, drawing his sword.

"Have I not reminded you enough _not _to do anything stupid?"

"What?"

"Refusing to outrun fifty undead, angry, and potentially lusty pirates is considered an abomination in the face of logic," Jack complained in a pleading voice. 

"You haven't got one ounce of logic left in you, Jack Sparrow," came a voice from behind both of them. They both turned to see Elizabeth, wobbly walking towards them, her hand squeezing the rail rightly probably to prevent herself from collapsing. Jack took notice of her sickly pale appearance and her blood shot eyes. But, trying desperately not to alarm either companion, he asked, "Shouldn't you be spewing up your breakfast somewhere?" 

Elizabeth, in no mood to argue, only said with finality, "We're staying and fighting." Will rushed over to her aid and held onto her, kissing her forehead softly and positioning himself next to her in agreement.

"Lest I remind you who the captain of this ship is?" he asked annoyed, placing his hands upon his hips.

"No need to," shot Elizabeth. "But unless you want to end up on another island because of mutiny, I suggest you listen to what Will and I have to say."

Pouting like a child, Jack grumbled, "Gibbs was right…women are bloody bad luck…especially ones who _talk_." He shot a nasty glare at Elizabeth. "Fine. You two have a swell time fending off dead pirates by your onesies." With that, he hastily walked towards his quarters, drawing his sword. 

"Where do you think you're going?" Will called after him.

"I'm going to do something you never did."

"Which is?"

Jack Sparrow's voice faded from Will and Elizabeth's ears as he walked inside of his quarters, slamming his door behind him. "I'm going to wait for the opportune moment."

~*~

DUN DUN DUN.

Reviews, please! Har har har.


	6. Fine Tide

**Disclaimer: **See previous disclaimers. I don't wanna talk about it.

**A/N: **WOW! Such a response…I'm thrilled. I really am. Thanks so much guys. Anyways…this chapter might be short, but it was all I could do. I'm leaving for four days to go stay on campus at a local university for a yearbook conference. Exciting, right? Yeah, not really. So I won't be able to update until Thursday…and I would love reviews! Without further ado….here's the next chappy.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change 

****

_Fine Tide_

"The opportune moment? THE OPPORTUNE MOMENT?" Will roared incredulously, throwing down his sword. "What in bloody hell does he think he's doing? This isn't funny!"

"Apparently he thinks it is," his wife replied calmly, picking up his sword and handing it to him. "You might need this."

Will looked into her eyes and saw only determination and trust. Her confidence and loyalty to him were unbreakable, and he knew it. Taking his sword from her he said, "I don't want you to be out here, Elizabeth. It's not safe."

"Since when is anything I do ever safe?" she asked demandingly. Will instantly knew this was one of the moments where he should have kept his mouth shut. "Is it when I go gadding off with that despicable character Jack Sparrow? Or is it when I refuse to play damsel in distress when it comes to fighting in self-defense? Whatever it is, it's gone. I'm here to stay, and if you don't like it, you can find someone else to marry."

Smiling cautiously, Will responded, "Only checking to make sure you're still as roguish as you were the day I met you."

Elizabeth blushed and turned away from him. "I'm not _roguish,_" she weakly rebutted.

Tearing his eyes away from her, Will took his position at the wheel, still gripping his sword, hoping for a miracle or a sudden gust of wind to propel them away from the ship of the undead. Unfortunately, the wind seemed only to be helping Barbossa. Just his luck.

He turned around and was immediately alarmed at the rate Barbossa was gaining on them. He saw them pull up to the starboard side, the crew taunting and grunting inhumanely as they held on to various parts of the rigging and nets. Gritting his teeth and grasping the wheel, he desperately tried to veer them away from the approaching vessel. Wave after wave crashed against the _HMS Sea Farer_, sending false hope to Will that they might be able to outrun them. Unfortunately, he knew it was folly.

As he spun the wheel again in his last attempt to avoid capture, he heard Elizabeth scream. He whirled around and unsheathed his sword, but could not hold back a gasp as he found himself face-to-face with the man who had haunted his dreams for so long.

"Ahoy there, Mr. Turner. Fine tide I'd be seein' you so soon."

As an innate reaction, Will thrust his sword forward into the man's abdomen. Barbossa staggered back, slouching slightly as his hands grasped the hilt of the sword now impaling his body. For a moment, all Will could hear was his own ragged, heavy breathing as he had the fleeting impression that he had killed the pirate. But the sound of Barbossa's raspy laughter drowned all of his hopes of destroying him. The mutinous captain wrenched the sword from his belly and flung it aside. "Thought you could kill me, eh? Oh, matey, the curse has a mind of 'er own."

Before he could retort, Will felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. His vision became blurred, his thoughts raced, and his stomach churned. Blackness, cold and lonely, surrounded him, and the sound of the crew's laughter echoed within his mind as he fell limply into unconsciousness. 

~*~

"Get your hands off me! Don't touch me!" Elizabeth screamed, struggling viciously against the strong and inappropriate grips f the crew. They were all in a group, propelling her forward, laughing and grabbing indecently at her. Deep down, she was petrified. On the surface, however, she looked undoubtedly furious.

"Ahh, Miss Swann. Or is it _Mrs. _Turner?" came an all-too familiar voice from the front of the grew. As the crew parted she looked to see Barbossa, standing at the wheel, a confident smirk obvious upon his ugly face. Seeing her refusal to answer, he continued. "So. How is it you came to be sailin' a ship like this 'cross the sea?"

Brushing the hair out of her face, blown there by the wind, Elizabeth didn't answer. The more time she stalled, the more time she could give jack for his "opportune moment", which, Elizabeth prayed, had better be more than desertion.

"Alright missy, you seem to have lost your tongue. Lock her in the captain's quarters!" Three sets of hands closed down upon her. She writhed desperately, trying to escape their firm holds on her. She turned her head slightly to the left and saw her husband unconsciously lying on the deck next to Barbossa's feet.

"WILL!" she screamed, her eyes wide with fear. "Will!"

"Aye, so that pretty tongue of yourn hasn't run off missing," Barbossa smiled. The crew chuckled collectively.

"What did you do to him?" she breathed, never removing her eyes from his limp body. His arms lay in front of him awkwardly. His eyes were closed and his face was expressionless…Elizabeth silently prayed that he was alive.

"Nothing that is irreparable," he replied carelessly. "Take her away."

"NO! Will!" she cried helplessly as a burly member of the crew picked her up, shouldered her, and threw her, kicking and screaming, onto the floor of the captain's lodgings. Before she could get to her feet, the door slammed and the key turned in the lock.

"You bloody bastards! Let me out! Will!" she yelled, hauling herself up and banging on the door crossly.

"I don't think that's very persuasive of you," came a slurred voice from the corner.

She turned to see Jack, sitting in a cushioned chair, drinking deeply from a rum glass. Furious, she approached him, her eyes wild with anger. "WHAT, PRAY TELL, DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Drinking…at least, the last time I checked," he replied nonchalantly, taking another gulp from his mug.

Angered beyond logic and feeling helplessly betrayed, she grabbed his mug from his hands, threw it over her shoulder, and slapped him.

"I don't think I deserved that."

"Yes you did, you sorry, good for nothing turn-coat. You're in here drinking rum while Will's out there fighting Barbossa! What - "

"SHH! Good tides, woman, quiet down!" Jack hissed, covering her mouth quickly. But Elizabeth, in no mood to be chided by a traitor, bit hard down upon his forefinger, the metallic tang of blood rushing into her mouth. Jack yelped in pain and released her, gripping his injured hand. She sprinted to the other side of the room, grabbed the door handle and heaved, hoping it would miraculously crash open.

"In case you haven't noticed, it's locked."

"Shut up! How could you do this to us? How could you do this to Will?" she spat, whirling around to face him. "How could you?"

"You honestly believe I'm in here trying to save my own skin, do you?" he asked slyly.

"Yes."

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he walked over to his mug, picked it up, and looked at her. "I'm in here trying to save YOUR hides, mind you."

"What are you talking about?" she asked shortly.

Holding up a hand to signal for her to stall any other abrupt advances to attack him, he walked over to a wooden cupboard, swung it open, and took out a bottle of rum. He delicately poured it into the mug until it was half full. He carefully capped it, returned it to its place on the shelf, and walked toward her, extending his hand with the rum. "Drink it."

"I'm not in the mood for your petty games-"

"This isn't a game. Just drink it."

The sincerity and hope in Jack's voice struck a discordant note in her mind. He seemed to be truthful and seemed to want to honestly help her. She cautiously took the mug from him and almost cried out in pain; it was scalding hot.

"What is this, Jack?" she asked, looking down into the steaming rum-colored liquid.

"Not rum," he offered, with a toothy grin.

"Why do you want me to drink it?"

Jack's grin vanished and was replaced by an earnest gaze. "I need to see something."

"What?" She was completely confused. 

Jack sighed and adjusted his hat. "Look. There's no time for explanations,  lass, but I'll tell ye this: if Barbossa is doing what I think he's doing, then what I'm doing is definitely a doing for you own good, and not doing it will be the undoing of us all."

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth replied, "You make absolutely no sense."

"Have I ever?" he asked, annoyed and seemingly in a hurry. "Let me make this short and simple for ye, lass. If Barbossa gets us into his little cave with his little chest of gold and draws a little of Will's blood, there will be little of any of us left to tell the tale of it."

Elizabeth murmured, "Will's in danger, then…" She felt her heart convulse wildly, felt her head suddenly grow light, felt her chin tremble and her eyes well up with prospective tears.

Jack noticed this and snorted. "Oh, enough. You two lovebirds are going to drive me insane." He paused for a moment, considering the irony of that statement, and continued. "Now if you would be so kind as to drink that," he gestured to the mug, "then we can get on our way to rescuing your lover-boy."

She looked down at the liquid again, feeling its oddly comforting warmth beneath her fingertips. She brought it to her face and immediately grimaced. "Jack, it smells like really bad eggs."

Jack smiled and replied, "Drink up, me hearty, yo ho!"

~*~

Thanks for the reviews. You guys are the best.


	7. Of Traitors and Bloodlines

**Disclaimer: **Nope. I don't own Will Turner. I don't own Elizabeth Swann. I don't even own Jack Sparrow…*sulk*. Great, now you've made me depressed.

**A/N: **Ok. I have come to the conclusion that even _I _am extremely confused with all of the plot turns and twists and unanswered questions. So I think that this chapter will answer most of them. I actually sat down with paper and pencil to figure all of this stuff out….and boy, it was exhausting. So, without further ado, here are most of the answers you have been waiting for.

**Dedicated to: **LizKat36, you know who you are, and you bloody better start your story. Eryn of Lasgalen for teaching me French at one in the morning….you have talent, and I hope you put it to use. To Savvy Jack Sparrow for our countless discussions on "the winds of change", and to all of my reviewers and readers. You guys are great, thank you so much. 

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Of Traitors and Bloodlines_

"He's ours, ye scabbers!"

Jeers, laughter, and shouts of relief echoed across the _HMS Sea Farer as Captain Barbossa spoke those words. His mismatched crew all wore lopsided grins of anticipation; they would get their lives back at last._

"Young Mr. Turner here seems to be in the dark about our tribulations, laddies," he continued, stepping over Will's limp body towards the wheel. "And I don't think his lass knows anything 'bout them either."

A heavy silence followed these words. It seemed as though the crew did not know whether to snicker slyly or to nod their heads in solemn comprehension. As birds flew overhead, Barbossa turned to look up at them and noticed the winds had ceased. The sun shone down upon them hotly, but none of the crew took notice. They couldn't feel anything, after all.

Barbossa sighed and looked down at Will, still laying unconscious on the deck. He grinned, knowing that the young Turner would be in their total control and would undoubtedly be an asset to their crew.

"As you know," he began again, slicing through the silence like a knife through butter, "now that Mr. Turner here is in our custody, the Aztec gods now control him…and so do we." Mumbles and fragments of sentences rippled across the crew. "This means that he will put up no fight when the time comes to slit his throat over that chest of gold."

Cheers and jeers rose up from the crew as Barbossa smiled to himself. "Alright, ye pirates, back to the ship_._"

"But what of the girl?" a voice came from the crew. All eyes turned to Barbossa who replied, "Leave her here; she is of no use to us. After all, it was our fine informant who said, 'Women are mighty bad luck to have aboard a ship'. I'm starting to believe him."

Once again laughter could be heard as the crew made way to depart the _HMS Sea Farer_. One burly pirate shouldered Will and walked across a plank connecting the two ships. Barbossa crossed the plank as well, ordered masts at full height, and retreated to his cabin.

Removing his plumed hat from his head, he crossed the room to sit down in an ornately carved chair. He slouched, narrowing his eyes in concentration. So much had happened in the past two years…so much. Yet none of it had been good.

He had been dead, and he remembered his last thoughts….he was cold. So cold. But he had been almost grateful to the man who killed him…the chill had been the only sensation he had had in ten years. 

That man who killed him, he had been informed, was also dead. Barbossa snickered. _The infamous Jack Sparrow sunk with his ship. He had bought the idea to fire upon the British Navy…he had believed that they were in hot pursuit of him…my my, Jack Sparrow had turned gullible._

Or maybe he just trusted his crew. It was a member of his crew, after all, that had turned on him to help Barbossa. Then again, why wouldn't he? He was a victim of the curse as well, and wanted to be alive again just as much as anyone else. Whatever the case was, Barbossa was ecstatic at the news that Sparrow had fired upon the British Navy. Everyone was dead.

Everyone including Jack Sparrow.

Of course, his informant couldn't die, being a member of the curse himself. So he feigned his death, sunk to the bottom of the ocean carelessly, and had successfully found Barbossa and his crew to inform him of the victory.

A high-pitched screeching noise erupted from his left. Barbossa turned a lazy eye onto his monkey, jumping up and down angrily inside his cage. "Sorry, Jack," Barbossa commented, really not sorry at all. That bloody monkey had been the source of all of their pain…

When Jack the monkey had taken that coin from the chest, he condemned them all to the curse again. Now the gods were angrier than ever that the gold was gone. They resurrected him and turned his once-alive crew dead again. The gods sent them on a mission of blood thirsty revenge…they instructed him to find every person who spent or used those Aztec trinkets for pleasure, for drink, for wealth. And once they were found, they were to be killed, to be slaughtered mercilessly by Barbossa and his crew.

But before that, they had to get young Turner to undo the curse. _But this time, the deal is better, _thought Barbossa, still staring at the fretting monkey. _This time, the curse will be lifted, but we will still be unable to die. Immortality without suffering, immortality with pleasure. _And now that Turner's mind, body, and soul belonged to them and the gods, it would be only a fool's possibility that he could escape his eventual death. 

_With his death comes our life, _Barbossa smiled. _And it will only be a matter of time before we live again._

A knock on his door jolted the captain out of his reverie. He turned to face the oak paneled entrance and shouted, "Enter." 

A burly man of average height stepped inside. The man took a long swig from a flask at his side, emitting a sound of contentment afterwards. Barbossa grinned and stood up.

"Well, if it isn't our informant."

"Aye, it is," came the answer.

Nodding, Barbossa gestured to a chair adjacent to his own. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Gibbs?"

~*~

Jack's intent gaze made Elizabeth feel completely uncomfortable. But she ignored it and stared at the hot mug in her hand, the putrid taste still lingering in her mouth from her first gulp.

"It's disgusting," she mumbled, still staring down at the steaming drink. "I can't drink all of this."

"Well, to be quite honest, missy, you don't have much of a choice in the matter, do ye?" he concluded, still staring intently at her face. "Drink up."

Shooting Jack a nasty glare she carefully raised the mug to her mouth, pinched her nose shut, and drank a deep gulp. She sputtered, feeling an innate sensation to heave. She broke into a coughing fit, and Jack patted her on the back. "'atta girl."

"Shut up."

"Ahhh, well, at least I know your personality hasn't changed," he countered, standing up and stretching.

"I'm not in the-"

"Shhhh!"

Elizabeth fell silent as she watched Jack approach the door, put his ear to it, and listen carefully.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean-"

"I hear nothing."

"What?" Alarmed Elizabeth put her mug down and started to approach the door, but Jack ran towards her and grabbed her arms. "Finish your drink, and do it fast."

"What?" she asked. Jack let go of her arms, twirled her around to face her mug sitting on the table, and then turned from her, asking, "Have you heard of chugging?" 

"I am not going to-"

"They've got Will, lass," he said softly, studying her expression, "so do something about that mug."

_They've got Will. They've got Will._

Those words resonated in her head like a shout in a hollow cave. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She whirled around, grabbed the hot mug, and drank it all in three huge gulps. She wiped her mouth clean with her hand, while at the same time praying that she did not vomit in front of Jack again. She didn't need the humiliation, to be sure.

"Wow. That's some impressive drinking," Jack commented, smiling widely at her.

Ignoring the urge to slap him, she asked quickly, "What about Will? We need to get him back. If they have him captive, he can't escape by himself."

"Not that he'd try," Jack muttered, walking towards the door.

"And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean? Why wouldn't he try to escape?" she countered, following him out on his heels. She looked around the _HMS Sea Farer's _deck as if expecting Will to jump out and embrace her. To her dismay, it didn't happen. The moonlight shone through the wispy clouds in the dark night sky, and she saw Jack turn to skeleton and back again, each time he stepped directly under it. It was a disconcerting sight, but Elizabeth had more pressing matters to worry about.

"Don't you remember anything of what I told Will when you were eavesdropping in the prison that night?" he asked distractedly, taking out his compass and staring at it. She noticed he stood in the shadow of the main mast, trying not to be within the moon's reach.

"Well, I remember-"

"How about the part where I talked about the ol' pirate philosophy: 'If you can't beat 'em, control 'em.'" Elizabeth's mouth fell open in comprehension, and Jack nodded solemnly. "Now that Will is in Barbossa's hands, his mind belongs to the curse."

Elizabeth didn't know whether to faint, cry, throw up, or do all three. All she knew was that her heart seemed to bleed with these words. Feeling light headed she grabbed for the railing to steady herself. "How do you know all of this?" she breathed, barely aware of the pitch and roll of the ship. She stepped out from beneath the covering directly outside of the captain's quarters and into the moonlight. She put her hands on her hips and waited for a reply. 

But Jack didn't offer one. Elizabeth opened her mouth to ask him again, but only found him staring at her, his eyes wide, the ends of his mouth turned upward in some strange smile. "What?" she demanded, regaining some of her strength. 

"They can't use Will," Jack mumbled, more to himself than to her.

"Jack Sparrow, what in God's name-"

"They can't use his blood to end the curse."

 The intensity at which Jack was now staring at her made her squirm. Nevertheless, refusing to be intimidated, she said, "Why not? He's the last Turner, and you told me that the last remaining member of that bloodline would be the only one to end it."

"Do you know what you just drank, lass?" Jack asked, a wide smile starting to spread across his face.

"N-no, I don't," she admitted.

"It's one of the Aztecs' own concoctions. Made from the raw eggs of a blue jay, boiled rum, and a shot of pig's blood. Explains the bad taste, mind you."

A wave of nausea smacked Elizabeth like a tidal wave, but Jack continued. "It was the only serum the Aztecs created to counter the curse…or, at least lessen the effects of it. You drink this stuff on a daily basis, lassie, and you will never show the signs of the curse." 

"But why would you have me drink it?" Elizabeth asked, her mind spinning with the intake of so much at once.

"The Aztecs aren't people who respect women, missy. The drink was made for a man; it would hide a man's bones if he were captive of the curse, but not a woman's. It has the opposite effect, actually," he added, as if it explained anything.

"And?" she asked impatiently when he paused.   
  


"And with a woman, it would show her as havin' the curse instead of hidin' it for her."

A fractured pause filled the air, and Elizabeth asked, "You made me drink that vile liquid to see if I had the curse, didn't you?"  
  


"Can't get anything by you," Jack mumbled, turning on his heels towards the wheel.

"So do I have it?"

"No. Look at yourself." Elizabeth looked down at her arms and body; they were still fleshy, without a bone in sight. "You wouldn't look like that if you had the curse, lass."

"Did you expect me to?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't I?"

"Between your questions and Will's questions, I'm going to get a permanent headache," Jack complained. But when he noticed the 'do not make me slap you or burn your rum' look on her face, he continued with his explanation. "You _should_ have it. You came in direct contact with the undead, with the curse itself. And, since its hunting us as well, you should be undead too. But you're not," he answered, steering the boat sharply to the left, still glancing at his defective compass.

"You didn't answer my question," she replied stubbornly, approaching him. "Why don't I have it then?"

Jack looked at her, a strange tenderness in his eyes. "The only thing that can counter this curse to the fullest is Turner blood. This is why Will won't ever be undead; he has Turner blood and can't be. The only thing the curse can do to him is to control him."

Elizabeth waited, not sure of what he was saying. Jack looked away from her and focused out on the horizon.

"But I don't have Turner blood. I'm only married to him," she whispered in response, thinking to herself. How could she be protected by a bloodline she didn't share?

"Elizabeth," Jack started, letting go of the wheel to turn to look at her. She saw him study her up and down and then saw him lean toward her, keeping his eyes locked on hers. "You _do_ share a bloodline with Will…"

"How?" she whispered, studying him. She had never seen Jack act like this before.

 "There's only one way you can."

"Which is?"

Jack looked at her, a soft smile spreading to his lips. As she stared into his eyes, she could have sworn she saw a gentle glistening in them. "You carry his child."

~*~

Ok. If you guys are still confused, let me know what you guys are confused about, and I will try to clear it up next chapter.

I hope you enjoyed…a long one, just for you. Thanks, mateys!


	8. Guilt and Guidelines

**Disclaimer:** One word: NO.

**A/N: **ALMOST 100 reviews!!!!!!!I'm going to faint…no, honestly, I am. And not Elizabeth-style, but serious fainting. You guys are awesome…thank you so much. But it must be warned: **this is extremely gory. **There is Will torture in here…so please don't continue without precaution. Enjoy…er, at least try to.

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Guilt and Guidelines_

It was only after he had been beaten to the brink of insanity that he realized he was going to die.

With every muscle in his body aching beyond his control, the wave of complete pain smacked into his skull, erupting with a sickening sensation churning in the pit of his stomach. Lights flashed before his eyes as a fist struck him in the left cheek, sending him reeling against the hull of the ship. He smacked onto the deck with a sickening thud, and forced himself to at least attempt to put up a fight, to at least try to act dignified. If he were going to die, he would die a pirate….he would die bloody and stubborn.

But as another punch hit him smack in the nose, he fell again, knowing damn well that he would not be able to recover from it. His nose cracked and he felt the warm release of blood trickle down his face. Flashes and streams of white light pierced his eyes like daggers as he let loose an agonized moan from his lips. He had never felt a pain like the one that engulfed his body. He had never known what it was to want to die, to want to fall into oblivion, to welcome the permanent darkness he had always wanted to avoid…

"Stand him up."

He felt two sets of coarse hands heave him to his feet, and he felt all of his pride leave him as he realized he could not stand on his own. The two men were holding him up by his arms, but he hardly noticed. Darkness was sweeping upon him ominously, and he only found himself wishing for it to consume him faster.

"Thought ye could avoid us, did ye?"

He could not open his eyes, nor could he speak. Another flourishing bout of pain exploded inside his head as he recognized the voice. He had meant to respond but all that emerged was a sputter. His mouth was filled with blood.

"You will respond to the captain!"

A punch to the stomach knocked all of the air from his lungs. He fell limp, only being suspended from falling upon the deck by the two men holding him. His insides squirmed and he gasped, desperately trying to grasp the salted air around him. Panting, his eyes still closed, he felt himself being heaved to stand completely upright. 

"Ye will not touch him, ye lubber! He is not to be killed! Understood?"

A collective wave of grunts incomprehensible responses filled his ringing ears as a feeling of disappointment clutched at his chest. 

_If I  won't be killed…then I'll be tortured…_

"Do ye have anything to say to defend that pathetic little body of yourn?"

Will struggled to open his right eye, the one that wasn't swollen completely shut. He stared into the blurred face of Barbossa, and felt a cold, icy hatred well up inside of his gut that he had never felt before. But he would not let this undead, apple-obsessed, disgusting bloodthirsty hooligan get the best of him. 

With the way he was tortured, he should have pleaded for mercy. He should have broken down, both emotionally and physically. He should have begged for death, pleaded for an end to the forsaken pain being executed upon him…

_…Daft like Jack. _He needed to be daft like Jack. 

So he smiled.

Blood trickled through his grinning teeth, sliding down to his chin and dripping upon the deck of the ship. He sized Barbossa up and was almost gleeful to notice an outraged expression on the captain's face. If he were going to die, then he would make sure not to make it enjoyable for any of those bastards.

_If he were going to die…___

If he was going to die…he wouldn't see Elizabeth again. If he was going to die, he wouldn't hear her laughter, he wouldn't see her soft eyes, he wouldn't feel her soft touch upon him, he wouldn't taste her kisses, he wouldn't smell her perfume….he wouldn't ever be with her again…

_Jack_, he thought to himself, closing his eyes again. _Jack, take care of her…_

With those last pleas in mind, he felt the hilt of a sword crash down against his skull for the second time that day. As he struggled to breathe, choking on his own mouthful of blood, he found comfort in the memories that were long gone and forgotten, the people he had met, the places he had been…

_…My place is here, between you and Jack._

~*~

Carrying Elizabeth back to his cabin for the second time that day, Jack prayed for rum. He needed it…how else in bloody hell was he going to cope with a fainting pregnant wife of a man who was now kidnapped by insane pirates who wanted them all damned to the fiery rims of hell? 

"Bloody nuisance," he muttered, placing her gently down upon his bed. But he reminded himself that he had no crew to impress, no reputation to maintain. He no longer needed his daft-like comments, his sardonic attitude, nor did he need to quench his thirst for the confusable. He could be the man he had always been, hidden deeply under the scuffle of drunkenness and insanity.

He looked over her, gently studying her. She was beautiful, it was no doubt. But he found no lust in his soul for her, no inappropriate intentions had ever crossed his mind. She was a friend, a companion…no matter how much she burned his rum…

The mere thought made him wince.

Rum sounded good, but saving Will Turner's life sounded a wee bit better.

Striding back out to the deck, he took out his defective compass and gazed up at the sky. The winds were picking up, and had changed directions…it was strange, he noticed, that the winds now blew west, when merely an hour before they had blown east…

Narrowing his eyes, he took hold of the wheel and spun it gently to the left. It was a beautiful sunset, the giant orb of gold burning hotly directly in front of him, growing ever smaller as it sunk into the sea, its warmth disintegrating as the winds whipped around him.

Without warning, a sudden feeling of helplessness engulfed Jack. He realized he had no idea what to do. Go save Will?…well, that was just dandy, ignoring the fact that he had Elizabeth and the baby to consider…

_Bloody Christ, _he rolled his eyes. _I feel like I'm married...how unpleasant. How Bill managed a wife and kid while parading around the __Caribbean__ with me is nothing short of a miracle…_

But Bill and Jack could not be compared. They were polar opposites, North and South, hot and cold, wind and calm. They never thought the same way nor acted alike. They never agreed with one another about pirating nor did they ever share the same ideals…or lack thereof. They did, however, share a love for the ocean and a companionship that went far beyond friendship. It was brotherhood.

And now Jack found himself commandeering a ship, heading for an unknown destination, sailing under unkind winds, thinking about Bill's son who, as far as he knew, was under the complete control of the curse…

…but he wasn't dead.

He _knew_ he wasn't dead. The moon now rose, taunting the tides like a playful child, hushing the once-violent winds that now were mere whispers upon the rigging. He looked at his skeleton-morphed hand and felt a calm reassurance assuage his urge to advance on a whim of luck in order to save Will. 

The Pirates' Code was an hour-long writ to learn but a lifelong struggle to obey. According to the Code, he should have abandoned any chance to save Will. He should be sailing back to Port Royal to drop off the lass and the child she carried. After all, why try to rescue one life by possibly bartering four? Simple logic, that's all it was.

_Logic.__ What a fine commodity. _

It was a commodity that Jack had learned not to portray. He had it down pat…he knew how to manipulate logic so it became illogical, how to writhe lies into complete truths. He found ways to cheat but be honest, steal but remain just, and scheme but remain true. 

But now, as he looked at the useless moonlight that shone down on him, he felt vulnerable and alone. The moonlight showed him for what he truly was, and his true self Jack had never let on to anyone. His daft like manner abandoned and his drunken expressions swept aside, he swung the boat in the opposite direction, causing it to roll suddenly and violently. He grabbed onto the wheel to keep himself standing, and only minutes after the ship had successfully avoided capsizing, he heard his cabin doors swing open.

"WHAT are you doing?" came the baffled cry.

He turned around to see Elizabeth walking shakily towards him. He smiled and noticed that she was handling herself much more delicately than before she had fainted with the news of her childbearing status. 

"We're going to back to Port Royal."

Elizabeth stared at the captain for a good minute before she responded. "You're not going to save Will?"

Jack shook his head, not wanting to think about it. The simple fact that he was abandoning his friend made him loathe himself more deeply than he had ever loathed anyone or anything before.

"You're going to drop me at Port Royal and go look for him yourself."

Jack avoided her eyes.

"You don't want the baby and I to be hurt, do you?"

He blinked.

"Jack – we have to go save him. Without Will I have nothing…I am nothing. I won't allow my baby to grow up without a father. I refuse to, Jack."

He looked back at her reluctantly, and saw her doing something he would've never expected.

She was crying.

Angry with himself Jack whirled from the wheel to his quarters, oblivious to the fact he was being followed. He saw his arms turn fleshy once more as he flung open a scroll upon the unmade bed. He squinted, trying desperately to read it, tracing his heavily-ringed fingers along swerving lines, muttering to himself. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, unconsciously rubbing her belly.

"There."

She jumped at his sudden comment as he repeated himself. "There."

"What?"

"That's where they're taking him." He looked up at her and felt a strange tenderness creep into his heart. He cared for her, he truly did…she was a faithful friend and a blindly loyal companion. He couldn't do this to her…

"And that's where we're going."

With a swoosh of a dress and the poignant smell of perfume, Jack found himself entangled with long brown hair, two arms, and a cloak. He looked up from under his skewed hat and grinned slyly. "Now, lass, we can't. You're pregnant."

Jack winced in reflex to the expectation of being slapped. To his surprise it never came.

"I thought we have to obey the Code," she answered, looking up into his chocolate eyes.

"Aye." Jack nodded solemnly, adjusting his hat. "The Code…"

Shrugging, Elizabeth turned to walk out to the deck. "Forget the bloody code. They're more like guidelines, anyway."

Jack hated to admit it…but she was right.

~*~  
  


Hope ye enjoyed. Questions? Comments? Email at RayzinGurl@aol.com...and then there's always that review button…


	9. The Accord

**Disclaimer: I own this plot, and that's about it. **

**A/N: So I'm on ff.net the other day, and I decide to look at my "Stats" button, and I literally fell off of my chair when I realized that I have currently 127 reviews for this story. I have no clue when that happened, but nor do I really care. THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :-D I love reviews…they're life. Thanks so much to all of my readers and reviewers…I really appreciate it. Ok….more Will torture. Sorry about that to those who are bothered by it….and you're welcome to all of those who love it. Off to the next chapter you go…**

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_The Accord_

His mind was turning on him, convincing him of things that weren't true. Between the gasps for air and the moans of pain, he could feel his mind, wrought with pain and anger, suddenly collapse into a fit of convulsions, demanding things of him that he could never morally do. They spoke to him as if he were disgusting, merely a rotting piece of rubbish that counted and mattered for nothing. He knew that if he didn't die from the pain, he would die from the darkness in his mind that continued to fester.

_Block it out, _he told himself as he lay in the brig, bloody and bruised with aches and pains running rampant in his trembling body. _Don't listen to it…_

_You have to listen to me, Will Turner. I _am _you._

Groaning, Will struggled to sit up. The suddenness in his movements caused his stomach to turn unpleasantly and he heaved. He carefully lay back down onto the brig floor that was covered in mold and about two inches of water. The salt stung his cuts and abrasions, but he ignored it as he shivered from the cold temperature of the both the water and the brig.

_You're cold, aren't you, Will Turner?_

He gritted his teeth together and clenched his fists, trying desperately to ignore the mocking voice that resonated within his mind.

_You can't ignore me, Will. I'm here to stay._

Closing his eyes he inhaled as much as his aching lungs would allow. He slowly released the breath and tried to relax his tense muscles and his overflowing mind. He desperately tried to ignore the burning sensation that flouted his body, coming in waves and leaving him so crippled that all he could do was moan quietly, writhing in pain. 

The only thought that brought him comfort was knowing Elizabeth and Jack were okay. Apparently, Barbossa had left Elizabeth on the _HMS Sea Farer, assuming that she was alone and would die within the week due to no water and the lack in ability to steer a ship. Luckily, they hadn't known Jack was with them, so thankfully they hadn't captured him. Will only wondered if they would have bestowed upon Jack as much pain as they brought upon him…_

_Doesn't it hurt, Will Turner? Don't you want it all to end?_

_Yes, _he thought reluctantly. _I just want it to go away…to stop…_

_Then tell them about Jack. Tell them where he is…_

_NO._ Will pushed this thought through his mind forcefully, hoping that it would render the voice useless and that it would eventually silence itself. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

_Why are you here in such pain when Jack remains hurt-free?_

_He was waiting for the opportune moment, _he thought, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter. Another wave of pain was upon him, once so fierce that he cried out louder this time, wishing it would all end…

He heard the voice laugh cruelly. _The opportune moment, you say? Well that moment has come and gone, and you still lie here in absolute throbbing, while Jack remains fine, biding his time with your wife._

Will's eyes snapped open, and the voice chuckled maliciously. _You see the way he looks at her, Will. You see the longing in his eyes, the lust in his face. He's a pirate…he knows no boundaries._

_Stop it! _He shouted in his mind, desperately trying to blockade the voice from his mind. _Leave me…_

_I can't leave. I'm here to stay…I've always been here, but only now do I speak. So, Will, you're stuck with me…and get used to it. The more fearful thoughts that enter your mind, the more I will prey on them…_

_No…_

_Yes, Will. I'm your worst nightmare and your internal enemy._

An immense nausea swept over him and Will retched again. He spluttered, blood still seeping from his back teeth that had been loosened while he was being beat. His nose was crooked and broken, his eye still swollen so great he couldn't open it, his head pounding, his body aching.

_It hurts, doesn't it? To be abandoned not only by your friend, but by your wife?_

In too much pain to respond, Will hesitantly considered this voice's reasoning. He did have a point…why hadn't Jack saved him? Why had he left him all alone to face Barbossa, while he stayed locked in his quarters, waiting for the so-called _opportune moment? _

_Stop thinking that they're coming for you, lad. They aren't._

Will knew that neither Jack nor Elizabeth would ever abandon him…he knew it. Yet somehow the voice's persuasion made him question their loyalty. Why did they leave him to face Barbossa alone? Why didn't Jack offer help? Why didn't he stay out on the deck and fight like he would've under any other circumstance?

_I have a better question for you, Will. Why did Jack make you steal a boat with him in the first place?_

He was about to answer when he realized he didn't have one; he had no idea why. Could he have done it to take them to a safe place where the curse couldn't get them? Did he do it for his own good, so he could have help while trying to stop Barbossa from getting his revenge for the gods?

_Or could it be, friend, that he did it because he knew a situation would arise like this, and he would leave you to be captured?_

Will shifted positions on the floor and felt his arm throb with pain. It was probably broken, along with a few of his ribs and nose…

_He wanted you to be captured, mate. He planned it from the beginning. Sorry to tell you, Will Turner, but you've been betrayed by your best friend._

Jack had betrayed him. A sense of treachery and despair clenched his heart as another wave of pain entered his body. Jack left him to be tortured at the hands of Barbossa and his crew. He left him without hope and without knowledge that Elizabeth would be safe. He had left him desolate and in pain…

_Are you going to let him get away with that?_

No.

_Then tell Barbossa that he's alive, Will. Tell him._

No…I can't. Elizabeth is with him…I can't risk her life. I love her…

_Then strike a deal, with him, mate. Offer Jack's location for __Elizabeth__'s safety…_

Will pondered this, both his body and his heart in pain. He couldn't believe Jack had betrayed him like this…he wondered why he hadn't seen it to begin with. Of course he had purposefully hidden himself in the quarters…he wanted Will to be captured. He wanted to get Barbossa off of his hands for good, he wanted to be left free, he wanted to be left alone with Elizabeth… 

_He wants her, mate. He always has…he always will…once a pirate, always a pirate…_

Will felt his temper flare within his stomach like the very fires of hell. Jack practically handed him over to Barbossa so he could be left alone, uncursed, with Elizabeth. The perfect plan for him…Jack would comfort her upon Will's death, tell her that he'll take care of her…he would marry her, knowing full well he was responsible for Will's murder…

_And they'll be a happy family, Will Turner, while you rot here in this brig._

"Barbossa…." He whispered hoarsely. He inhaled, thinking of Jack's roguish smile, hand in hand with Elizabeth at the alter. "Barbossa…BARBOSSA!" he managed to scream. He was in such pain that he couldn't bring himself to sit up, so he continued to lay there on his side, hot tears of betrayal and contempt streaming down his face.

He heard a creaky door open and detected low voices mumbling to each other. Footsteps, sloshing water around, approached his cell, and he looked forward and up to see Barbossa and another member of his crew standing there, both of their arms crossed, an amused smile spreading itself across the captain's face.

"So, Mr. Turner, you called?"  
  


"Jack's alive," he blurted out, trembling in both voice and body.

Barbossa seemed taken aback. "What did ye say?"

"Jack's alive…he was on the _HMS Sea Farer," he breathed. Talking used up most of his energy and burned his lungs, but he didn't care. If he were going down, he would drag Jack down with him…_

"Do ye lie, Will Turner? The cost of lies runs deep within me crew, and by the looks of ye, you can't take much more a-beatings," he commented, studying Will who lay so helplessly on the floor.

"I'm not lying…he's there. He hid in the captain's cabin while you were on board…"

Barbossa smiled knowingly down at Will. "Did he, now? Quite the coward, Captain Sparrow is."

"But you can't hurt Elizabeth," he strained. His lungs hurt so much that he wished he could cease breathing. "You can't hurt her…take Jack and I, leave her alone…."

"I'll leave her alone if you help me to capture _Captain Sparrow," stated Barbossa, eyeing Will as if he were some interesting piece of artwork. With a flick of his head, Barbossa motioned to the other crew member who unlocked the cell and heaved him up into a standing position. Will openly cried out with the pain that now pulsed through his shivering body as he was turned, face to face, with the man he so hatefully despised. _

"Do we have an accord then?" Barbossa inquired, smiling and holding out his hand. 

Reluctantly, Will took his hand, squeezing as hard as he could muster, trying to show that he had some strength left within him. He smirked back, nodding his head, ignoring the throbbing sensation throughout his body. Jack would be caught…revenge would be had…

_Good job, mate, _the voice in his head commented. _Jack Sparrow won't get away with anything this time._

Will looked deeper into Barbossa's eyes as his own glinted with expectant fulfillment. "Aye. We have an accord."

~*~

Uh oh….looks like the curse is starting to get a hold of Will….poor guy.

For everyone who reviewed…you guys are awesome. Oh! By the way…that character death notice in the beginning of the story? Yeah, that's still valid. Sorry to those of you who don't want to see a major character die, but it's going to happen….sorry…

Hope you enjoyed! Please review!


	10. Isle de la Viento

**Disclaimer: **Let me check…..ahhhh….nope. Still don't own anything. Damn…

**A/N: **Hello me faithful readers and reviewers! Thanks so much for 147 reviews…..wow. Never thought _THAT _ would happen! Anyways, it's much appreciated. Now, upon popular request, get ready for an entire chapter dedicated to Jack…er, I mean Captain Jack Sparrow. I know you all missed him…to be honest, I went through my own Jack withdrawal symptoms…it included a hang-over, really dark eyeliner, and burning rum….*shudder*. I don't even want to go there…anyways, here's your Jack chappy!

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Isle de la Viento_

"Who's the captain of this vessel? ME! And who are ye going to listen to unless I tell ye otherwise? ME! Now get back into that cabin and get some rest!" Jack bellowed, waving his hands in wild gestures.

"I am not going to be ordered around by some filthy scummy pirate who thinks he knows everything!" Elizabeth shouted back across the ship while she struggled to raise the main mast. __

"Just in case ye haven't heard, you're PREGNANT! Now get back in my quarters or I'll carry you there…_again_…" he muttered in contempt. Women were no good aboard ships…no bloody good at all. He watched her with slight amusement as she lost grip of the rope as the sail of the main mast fluttered desperately in the growing winds, flapping so loud that he was sure it was going to break. Rolling his eyes he left the wheel, wrenched the rope from her hands, and successfully tied it around the rigging to hold it in place. "That help of yourn is wonderful, lass," he muttered as he turned away from her.

"Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm completely useless!" Elizabeth sulked, folding her hands across her chest. 

"No, but ye are a woman, which means you _are completely useless….aboard a ship, that is," he quickly corrected himself, watching her right hand fold itself nicely into a slapping-position as she approached him._

"You mind your manners, Jack Sparrow," she threatened, now staring at the captain face-to-face. Then, with a sparkle in her eyes, she added, "I know where you and Will hid the rum."

Jack's face slackened and he felt as if his mind was going to explode. "You touch that rum and I'll make you wear a corset." She saw Elizabeth's face turn slightly pink as she narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Apparently she decided against answering, and abruptly turned from him and walked to the side of the ship, her back towards him, her arms folded. _Well, at least she's not heading for the rum…_

Turning his attention back to their coordinates, Jack noticed that they didn't have much longer to go. He knew where Barbossa decided to hide the chest of gold again…it was exactly where he had told Barbossa to hide it once they came into possession of it…that, of course, was before Barbossa made him walk the plank…

Deciding that the ship could commandeer itself for a couple of minutes, Jack retreated from the wheel, leaving Elizabeth standing by the starboard side, and went into his cabin. He sat down on the chair and rubbed his eyes with a heavily-ringed hand, mulling over pieces information he knew he had gained.

For one, Elizabeth was pregnant; he knew that as a fact. Not only did she not come under the influence of the curse when the cursed crew physically touched her, but that would explain as to why she had been so sick aboard the ship. But somehow, whether by intuition or instinct, Jack knew that she wasn't only sick because she was pregnant…

It had to be when Barbossa was near. It was too much of a coincidence that she happened to have gotten sick right before that cursed crew made an appearance. Plus, he knew the curse affected them all, no matter what he had told Will…

Of course he had felt bad when he lied to Will about Elizabeth being safe. But what other choice did he have? How could he have told Will that the curse wasn't only angry, but it was the angriest at Elizabeth? How could he have looked Bill Turner's son in the eyes and told him that it would be lucky if any of them made it out alive? How could he have simply let Will know that the curse wanted Elizabeth dead, that it was furious for the offering of her false blood, that her blood was the first to be drawn, that the curse was most familiar with her? He simply couldn't do it.

But then again, Elizabeth's blood wasn't the only blood that the curse knew. It knew _all of their blood. Will's blood it knew, Jack's blood it knew. Perhaps that's why the gods want them all dead and done with before it goes on a slaughtering rampage to punish all of those who had come in contact with the tokens…_

Jack cleared his throat as he realized all of this thinking called for a glass of rum. Of course he was undead so the rum didn't intoxicate him like it used to, but it was surely a way to keep up his excuse of acting drunk all of the time, in order to avoid the cunning questions of the pregnant lass. He looked through the cupboards for the burgundy liquid, but couldn't find it. Of course, he and Will had decided to hide the rum in the very spot where she would expect to find it: in the cabinets, the most obvious spot. But as minutes of his search passed by fruitless, Jack's heart started to race. Throwing chairs and mugs and glasses aside, he ransacked the entire cabin, but could find none.

His eyes growing wide and mouth opening slightly he burst out of the captain's quarters and shouted wildly, "WOMAN! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY RUM?!" He turned to glare at Elizabeth who was leaning over the side of the ship. He squinted his eyes and felt slightly sheepish for accusing the poor lass of something she didn't do; she was apparently being sick right now, no doubt irritable beyond the fiery depths of hell. He sluggishly approached her and said, "Sorry to accuse ye, but-"

Jack leaned over the side to try to see what she was up to and yelped painfully. He grabbed her hand which was currently holding a bottle of rum, upside down, pouring its contents into the vast sea. She struggled with him as he desperately heaved her onto the deck. They both tumbled and she landed on him, still holding the virtually empty bottle of rum. She pinned his arms down as she sat on top of him, her right hand still holding on to Jack's liquid of life.

"Look here, Jack. Until you recognize that I'm not some damsel in distress, always in need of a pirate to look after me, you can kiss your faithful rum goodbye. I won't have it, you poor excuse for a captain. If you don't think you can trust me, woman and all, to help you rescue Will, then I don't think I can trust you to avoid the bottle for a few weeks while we try to do so. Is that understood?"

"I must say, lass, being pinned under such a fine woman as yourself is almost as rewarding as the rum herself..."  
  


"JACK! Am I being clear?" Elizabeth shouted again shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

He eyed the bottle, then looked at her, then eyed the empty bottle again and grumbled, "Aye…crystal clear." She let go of him and stood up, dropping the bottle onto the deck. Still lying on the floor he lunged for it and brought it to his lips in hopes of at least a few drops of that godsend of a drink. Unfortunately, it was bone dry. Furious he unsteadily stood up, took out his pistol, and pointed it at Elizabeth's back. He cringed as he realized she was pregnant, and it wasn't her baby's fault she was a complete woman of the devil. He let out a yell of exasperation as he returned the pistol to its holder, only then realizing that he had responded in the _exact_ same way when she had destroyed his rum the first time.

"For me sake, I'm prayin' to the heathen gods that Will comes back!" he shouted dramatically, "because if I be stuck with you the rest of my life, I might as well put _drown myself in rum!"_

"Well, think of it this way," she responded. "At least you won't be a drunk."

"Drunk is good!" he shouted back. He looked at Elizabeth again, waiting for her sly response, when he noticed she looked slightly more pale than she did before. She unsteadily walked to the side of the boat to steady her stance, and, as Jack ran to help her, she collapsed.

He grabbed her right before she hit the deck. Lowering her gently onto the wooden floor, he checked her over and noticed, to his dismay, that her breathing was shallow. She was sweating, but her body was cold. She was shivering slightly despite the hot sun and her body was completely unresponsive. He shook her gently and realized that she was completely out cold. On a hunch, he stood up and looked at their surroundings. His heart leapt to his throat as he realized that they were only a mile at most from Casa Del Diablo, a group of six islands that formed one big circular cove, known for the highest waves and fiercest winds in the Caribbean. 

Jack knew Elizabeth didn't suffer from pregnancy sickness; she suffered from the curse. Cursing under his breath, Jack looked worriedly down at her motionless body, afraid of what she would be like when she awoke to realize that the curse might finally be taking its toll on her. 

_If she succumbs to the curse, _Jack thought to himself, _then_ there will be hell to pay…__

Jack knew what the curse was capable to doing to a person it controlled; that was partly the reason why he wanted to drop Elizabeth off in Port Royal first. He knew what its capacity was and was still fearful of how he would find Will…if he was still alive…

Picking up Elizabeth for the third time in three days, he carried her back to his cabin in the usual fashion, placed her on the bed, covered her with four blankets, and shut the door quietly behind him. Out on deck he could feel the winds pick up as they neared Casa Del Diablo and felt the roll of the ship become more violent. How he was going to maneuver around those costal rocks to get into the center of those six islands was going to take skill, and was almost impossible to do successfully all by his lonesome.

_Almost _impossible.

Narrowing his eyes in concentration Jack took a hold of the wheel, turning it gently to the right, knowing, almost by heart, the place of every rock in Casa Del Diablo. The hard part was the maneuvering; but Jack knew tricks of the trade. From his long years abroad, he knew that in order to victoriously enter Casa Del Diablo, one had to think of something that angered him greatly and concentrate fully on that, ignoring everything else that surrounded him. And Jack had a perfect situation to be furious about…

With winds pinpricking his face and waves tossing the ship every which way, after about an hour of struggling to avoid the rocks, the reefs, and the twenty foot waves, he successfully entered Casa Del Diablo, passing in between two islands into the center, where a calm, lake-sized piece of water lay sparkling in the sunlight. He guided the ship to the smallest island, Isle de la Viento, and set anchor about fifty feet from her shores. He scanned the group of islands carefully and was thrilled to note that there was no sign of another ship that could possible belong to Barbossa.

Gathering his effects together, Jack wondered whether he should leave Elizabeth to sleep by her lonesome while he went to find the chest of tokens. He looked from the empty bottle of rum lying on the deck to the closed doors of his cabin to the white sands of Isle de la Viento, and decided that if, the gods forbid, Barbossa should find the _HMS Sea Farer docked, he would take Elizabeth, baby and all, with him. Rolling his eyes and grumbling half-heartedly about women being bad luck, Jack flung open the doors to the captain's quarters, picked Elizabeth up in his arms, and wondered how in bloody hell he was going to swim with an unconscious pregnant woman fifty feet to the shores of Isle de la Viento._

~*~

Alright, hope you liked. I gave you some more clues in here…and yes, I hope I'm not overdoing the rum, but I saw PotC again yesterday and choked on my popcorn for the SECOND TIME when he asked that infamous question, "BUT WHY IS THE RUM GONE??"

Please review….hey, I shouldn't even be asking you that. You guys have been awesome about reviewing, so I'll just thank you for giving me your input. I hope you enjoyed! And this was an entire chapter dedicated to all of you Jack-fiends out there. ^-^      


	11. Thrice is the Charm

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine, so don't ask again.

**A/N: **Firstly, let me thank **WCSPegasus**** for giving me constructive criticism…I love it! Thank you for your time in reviewing and giving me suggestions…it was much appreciated. As for all of you other awesome reviewers out there: THANKS! I never expected such a response from this, and I am sooo flattered. Ok, enough of me, off to the Caribbean. **

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Thrice is the Charm_

Guilt washed over him as he felt the ship battle the fierce winds, pitching and rolling almost to the point of capsizing. He still sat in the brig, aching in pain from beatings that, thankfully, no longer occurred. Barbossa ordered his men to leave him alone, and for that, Will was grateful. But unfortunately, sitting alone, one was especially vulnerable to his thoughts. And now, some of his thoughts began telling him he was a traitor.

Suddenly he wished he hadn't said anything to Barbossa about Jack being alive. Jack was his friend, he had helped him save Elizabeth, he had saved his own life and by doing so risked his own to hang from the gallows. And now, out of desperation and temporary insanity, he had virtually condemned Jack to death…

But Jack was _dead_, so how could he die?

_There are things worse than death._

Will cried out in frustration as the voice that had been such a key role in him telling Barbossa where Jack was suddenly made an appearance again. He unconsciously rubbed his arm where there was a still-bleeding gash in it as he sat up against the brig wall, trying to block out the sounds of the crew yelling and the waves crashing against the hull of the ship…

_You can't turn me out, Will Turner. I'm here to stay._

He sat up straighter, cleared his throat, and listened to the winds in the sails…

_Keep trying. It won't work._

He painfully stood up and grasped hold of the iron bars to keep himself standing as the ship rolled violently under him. 

_Told you it wouldn't work. Maybe you should start listening to me more often.\_

But Will knew that as soon as he listened to that menacing voice, the deeper he dug himself, and his friends, into trouble.

_Oh, so now Jack Sparrow is your friend, is he? Abandoning you to Barbossa, keeping __Elizabeth__ to himself.__ Perhaps this time he was really __using you as leverage, mate._

Will shook his head, as if hoping to shake the voice from his mind. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

_Yes, he is using you as leverage. He said so himself. Aye, perhaps it was a while ago, but he said it himself. Once a pirate, always a pirate, you know that…_

And an unexplainable anger rose up in his gut, so powerful that he sat back down and leaned against the wall of the brig again, letting the splashing salt water soak his trousers but hardly noticing it. 

_Ahhh__, and there's the anger. It hurts to be betrayed, doesn't it, Will?_

Will unconsciously nodded. It hurt more than anything he had ever experienced. Again, a sudden warm feeling rushed over him and he abruptly became certain that Jack was, of course, a betrayer.

_Aye, he betrayed you. But, lucky for you, you're going to get revenge._

Will's brow furrowed as he became unsure that what he was doing was right. A cold sense of doubtfulness swept over him, but it was soon subdued by the voice again.

_If it weren't for Jack Sparrow, your father would still be alive._

Pain rushed to Will's heart…a pain he had never known before. Growing up without a father had hurt him more than he had imagined. He never had a father to look up to. He was the one who looked after his mother, who brought home the bread, who took care of her until the day she died. He had taken on the father role that he had never agreed to accept, he had lost out on the childhood that he had never agreed to give up…all because his father loved pirating more than his own family. 

_Think about it, lad. If Jack hadn't been such a terrible captain, your father wouldn't have been sent to Davey Jones's Locker…_

It was true, a fact that even he couldn't deny. His father had felt loyalty to Jack Sparrow, and had thus sealed his fate. If Jack hadn't had been so tactless, his father would still be alive. If his father would've lived, Will wouldn't have lost out on his childhood, wouldn't have had to look after his mother and worry about money ever since he learned to walk. It was Jack's fault that his father was dead…it was Jack's fault that Will's life had been so hard…

_It's Jack's fault, Will, but luckily you'll be getting revenge._

And despite the brutal winds and the rolling ship, Will smiled at the thought. He'd be getting revenge.

~*~

Barbossa studied the man that now sat facing him with utmost displeasure. He had been lied to or there had been a terrible misunderstanding; whatever the case, his information had been wrong. This man, as an informant, had failed him whether purposefully or accidentally, and he had never dealt with misinformation pleasantly.

"So, Mr. Gibbs, would ye kindly explain to me exactly as to _why ye thought Sparrow was dead?"_

Gibbs stared back, blinking at the mention of the name. He seemed to be thinking of a good excuse. _It had better be a good one, _Barbossa thought grimly, _or he be marked a traitor…_

"I can't explain to ye how Jack's alive," concluded the man gruffly, now looking from Barbossa to a bowl of apples sitting on the table before him. "All I can say is that man's full of surprises."

"Aye," Barbossa nodded, still studying Gibbs. "Aye, he is full of surprises. But surprises don't interest me, Mr. Gibbs. What does interest me is how you came to assume that Sparrow was now havin' afternoon tea with Davey Jones in his locker."

In the silence that followed, Barbossa sized the other man up obviously, trying to detect any intentions to mislead him. To his satisfaction (but ultimate discomfort) he could find none. Gibbs suddenly looked up at him, his own eyes narrowing.

"Cap'n, how do we know that Will Turner boy ain't a-givin' you a story worthy of the backside of a mule?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. 

Barbossa blinked. He suddenly scolded himself and wondered why, in the name of changing winds, he had believed the boy without interrogation or firm proof. __

_Because he is under the influence of the curse, _he reminded himself, suddenly sneering. _He can't lie…_

"The curse sees that he don't, and we'll leave it at that," he responded sharply, lowering his eyes to stare at the apples in front of him. In due time, when Turner's blood was shed and the curse lifted, he would be able to eat as many apples as he could ever want…. 

"Why don't ye have an apple, Mr. Gibbs?" he asked sweetly, pushing the brass bowl towards his informant. Gibbs blinked as if slapped, looked from the ruby apples to Barbossa and back again, then slowly reached for the fruit. He grabbed one and shone it on his soiled shirt. He was about to bite into it when he looked at the almost-drooling captain and pocketed it.

"I'll have it later, if ye don't mind."

Barbossa sat back, smiling. He finally knew what was in that flask. "Not 't'all."

Nodding curtly, Gibbs snatched up his flask and took a deep gulp. As soon as he had swallowed it a slight grimace came to his face, and Barbossa smiled even wider. "Why didn't ye tell me the curse had got you too?" The man stared back at Barbossa, his mouth slightly agape. Barbossa continued, "Ye drink _Sangria, _matey. The Aztec potion to lift the effects of the curse." Gibbs cleared his throat, but remained silent. "So, Mr. Gibbs, that explains the flask. Ye need to drink it every eight hours to keep your skin from turnin' into bones in the moonlight. I suspect ye did it so Jack would never know, did ye now?"

Gibbs blinked a few more times before he answered in a deep voice. "If Jack knew I was under the curse, he wouldn't have trusted me." Barbossa nodded, and he continued. "The first time I convinced the crew to leave him wasn't too bad…Jack had said 'keep to the code' anyways, so they thought no more of me than a man obeyin' his cap'n. But the second time when I sent 'Lizabeth to get him alone, they were more s'picious, if ye follow. Main point is, cap'n, I've tried to kill Jack so many a-times for ye. He ne'er knew I was workin' with ye the whole time."

Barbossa sat back in his cushioned wooden chair and folded his hands in his lap. He studied the other man for a while before he said, "Ye've done well, Mr. Gibbs. Ever since ye joined up with me after maroonin' Jack on that wonderful island, ye have tried to help me. I s'pose it was you, then, who convinced him to fire on the British Royal Navy?"

Gibbs nodded. "Aye. Told him we'd never make it back to Port Royal to save Will Turner before ye got to him. Told him if he fired upon the Navy, they'd get there quicker than we ever would…'specially since I sliced the sails the day before, blamin' it on high winds. Got him to think twice…luckily he trusted me, and fired on 'em…got the rest of the crew killed, mind ye, but I couldn't be killed. I thought Jack was good as dead...saw him go under after the main mast fell atop his head…don't rightfully know how he survived it…"

Barbossa sat in silent contemplation. He knew that Jack was alive…Will couldn't lie, not under the curse. But _how _Jack was alive was a complete mystery. Barbossa rolled his eyes as he heard echo in his mind: _You forgot one very important thing mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow._

"Thank ye, Mr. Gibbs. Ye are excused."

Both men stood up, and Gibbs walked out of the captain's quarters, nodding his head and closing the wooden doors behind him. Barbossa walked over to his table, eyed the apples, took one, and smelled it.

_"_Soon enough I will be able to eat ye," he said to it aloud. "Soon enough…"

~*~

"I'm ALMOST NAKED!" she cried in desperation, angrily staring at the pirate across from her who was busy studying the blue sky above.

"Ye aren't naked. I'm not that lucky," he commented. He looked at her, winked, and turned his back to the ocean, walking inland.

"Jack! I'm wearing nothing but my nightgown-"

"Ye didn't bloody well expect me to swim meself _and _you to shore while you were primly and properly done up with a dress and all, did ye?" he asked distractedly.

Elizabeth fumed, and as a slight breeze tickled her half-exposed arms, she shivered. "Well I was completely dressed in formal wear _before_ you swam me ashore, which means _someone _must've undressed me and put this nightgown on me."

Jack paused in his stride and cleared his throat, his back still towards her. "Aye, well…you know those Caribbean monkeys. Damn clever and very lusty, mind ye."  
  


"NO MONKEY UNDRESSED ME, YOU FILTHY EXCUSE FOR A PIRATE!" she screamed still shivering.

"Do you bloody have to yell?" he asked. "'tis the Caribbean, love. Try to enjoy it."

Letting out a cry of outrage, Elizabeth marched on after him, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. How dare he undress her? If Will found out…

_Will_.

Her heart ached at the mere thought of him. She missed him dearly and only prayed that he was safe and unharmed. But as far as Barbossa went, her mind could only fear the worse…he was under control of the curse now, and, as far as she knew, he could be plotting against his very rescuers: herself and Jack.

Completely mindless of the present, she was abruptly halted when she walked smack into Jack's back. She stumbled and fell onto the hot, white sand and looked up into the grinning face of a man she wanted to slap. "Mighty clumsy of ye, love." He offered her his hand, but she ignored it and stood up on her own. Immediately, she regretted it, because she suddenly became dizzy. "Careful, there, lass…ye are in a delicate condition," he warned her, steadying her. 

"I am quite knowledgeable of my _condition, thank you," she shot back. She still let him hold on to her, however, for her dizziness had not passed. When it finally had she whirled from him and stared out in the direction they were walking, desperately trying to avoid looking Jack in the eyes. _

"Love, where are you going?" he asked from behind her. She turned to see him, still grinning, pointing in the direction to her right. "'tis that way." She threw her head up in defiance and marched in that direction, ignoring the idiotic and flamboyant bow he now offered her, mumbling, "After ye, lass."

She looked ahead and noticed that the shoreline stopped abruptly. Instead, where there should have been more sand, there were oddly shaped caves that jutted out into the ocean. Waves splashed fiercely upon them, which was odd, considering she felt no wind. 

"This way."

Jack veered her to the right, away from the water, up a couple of small mounds of sand, and across a prickly grassy field. She spent so much time watching where she stepped and trying to avoid trampling on a poisonous snake of some kind that she gasped aloud when Jack tugged her right arm to stop her.

She looked up and saw a huge cave entrance, towering perhaps fifty feet above them. Jagged edges and rough, wind-shaped sides jutted in each direction, creating an ominous feeling to overcome her. She looked at Jack who was also staring intently into the cave, seemingly deep in thought. She waited patiently until he spoke. 

"I'm going in."

He walked forward and she followed him. He turned, confusion across his face. "Erm, love, I said _I'm _going in. _I as in singular…__we would be plural."_

"I am most impressed that you know your grammar, Jack," she responded bitterly. "But I'm not waiting out here while you go into some forsaken cave."

Rolling his eyes and gesturing wildly while muttering something about "bloody women", Jack looked at her intently. "Ye can't go in there, lass. Trust me," he said loudly over her protests. "It ain't healthy for ye…or for the baby." 

Elizabeth fell silent at the mention of her baby as she unconsciously rubbed her still un-showing belly. She looked into Jack's eyes and saw sincere concern. She knew Jack wouldn't abandon her, and, as much as she wouldn't admit it, she trusted him. Nodding her consent he went forward into the cave alone, shouting back, "If I don't return before nightfall, get back to the ship." When she protested, he yelled back, "Do ye have to argue with EVERYTHING I say? Bloody Christ, just do it for once and save me sanity!" And with that, she heard his footsteps die away into the cave, leaving her standing alone, listening to the crashing waves and the growing wind, wondering_ what _sanity Jack was talking about.

~*~

"And really bad eggs…"

She couldn't help it…it was stuck in her head. That bloody annoying song had suddenly wedged itself in her brain, making it impossible to stop humming. She sat alone, on the quiet beach, facing the wide ocean, watching the sunset start to fall in the great heavens. The different hues of blue, stellar pinks, royal golds, and shocking oranges filled the sky above her. Despite the beautiful scene, she constantly worried about Jack. He had said if he didn't return by nightfall, she should return to the ship…

…which meant what? What would she do once she was there? She let out a groan of injustice; she hated being useless, and that was exactly what she was at the very moment. She wasn't helping to rescue Will, she wasn't helping Jack find the Aztec gold…she wasn't helping _anyone, for that matter._

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."

Abruptly, a hand covered her mouth and a knife was lifted to her neck. She tried to scream, but the more she protested, the deeper the knife cut into her throat, so she stopped struggling as the husky voice growled for her to stand up. She did as she said and heard the man whisper in her ear, "'Ello, poppet."

She would've screamed if it weren't for the hand covering her mouth. The man whirled her around and she was shocked to see the last man she had wanted to see at the very moment, smiling heftily back at her.

Barbossa.

"A pretty young lass like yourself shouldn't sing such a crude song," he smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Much too pretty for those delicate lips of yourn."

He chuckled at his own joke, then ordered the man holding her, "Take her aboard the ship."

"What 'bout Sparrow, cap'n?" came the inquiry.

Barbossa smiled, and the wind picked up, shivering Elizabeth to the bone. "Leave him…he can have a nice stay here with the notion that the gold is in that yonder cave." Elizabeth watched as he pointed to the very cave in which Jack had walked in to. "Take her and sink the _HMS Sea Farer_. Let's see if _Captain _Jack Sparrow can get off of this island now…thrice is the charm, they say," he added as Elizabeth struggled, opening her mouth, trying to scream to get Jack's attention. But the knife around her neck cut her sharply, and she ceased to struggle.

"Well, Ms. Swann, looks like I will have to, once again, welcome you aboard the _Black __Pearl__," sneered Barbossa._

 Before she could protest, a harsh pain hit her behind the head, and she found herself falling into darkness, with nothing but the rustling of the palm trees, the clashing of the waves, and the roaring of the winds deafening her ears.

~*~

A LONG ONE JUST FOR ALL OF YOU. I hope you enjoyed, and I hope this cleared up most of your questions…even though I still know some are unanswered. Thanks for the reviews, guys. J


	12. The Pirate's Way

**Disclaimer: **All I own is the plot. Lucky me.

**A/N: **I love you all. No, honestly, I really really REALLY do. Never did I ever expect to almost reach 200 reviews…ever. Right now I'm at 195 and I nearly fell off my chair when I saw it. Thanks so much guys…I really appreciate it. Ok ok enough blabbing…chapter 12. Have fun.

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_The Pirate's Way_

"Well, at least she listened to me for once," he muttered to himself as he continued to walk through the cave. Luckily there were holes in the jagged walls every few feet due to the heavy winds and crashing waves, thus making it possible to see via the sunlight now streaming in. He watched his step carefully as he splashed through the ankle-deep, lukewarm water, traipsing hopefully towards the chest of gold that he knew would be there. 

An eerie smell of must and dankness filled his nostrils as he took a sharp intake of breath; he had come to a fork in the cave and had no way of knowing which direction to take. Truth be told, he had never been there before and had gone to Isla de la Viento solely based upon that forsaken piece of parchment Gibbs had left him, muttering only, "Just in case." He wondered where Gibbs had gotten that peculiar map and why he decided to hand it over to him…Jack furrowed his brow in contemplation as he looked from the left path to the right path in complete confusion. No matter now; the fact was he trusted Gibbs with his life, and if he had to go blindly into the depths of this hellish cave to hopefully save Will, Elizabeth, and millions of other souls, then he supposed it would have to be done.

_Since when have you looked out for others, Jack Sparrow?_

_What in bloody hell was that? _he asked himself, frowning. Where did that voice come from? Jack turned slowly to look behind him and found nothing but an eerie stream of daylight reflecting in the stream of murky water he had been walking through. But that voice…it was so distinctive, so powerful that he realized, to his dismay, that it could only have come from one place.

His own mind.

Trying to push this disturbing fact aside, he walked forward resolutely. "If I were a chest of soul-damning, life-ending, curse-wielding Aztec gold where would I be….?" He asked himself aloud, his hands on his hips. He bit his inner lip and breathed deeply. "Fine," he said aloud once more. "Let's do this the pirate's way…Code, third line, fourth paragraph…_If a fellow pirate take ye gold, cut off his right hand, leavin' him only his left to fight with…" he recited from the back of his mind, squinting. "Cut off his right…leave him with his left…" he muttered, mulling it over in his brain. "Cut off his right…then it must be left," he said confidently, smirking to himself in satisfaction. He splashed ahead towards the left path._

As he continued to go deeper and deeper into the cave, he noticed that the chamber was getting narrower and narrower…until finally he reached a spot where the path was a mere three feet in width. "Wonderful," he muttered, eyeing the space-lacking path. Nevertheless he turned sideways, sucked his stomach in, and wedged himself nicely into the crevice. Realizing that he was stuck, Jack tried to move to the left. No luck. Then, he tried to move to the right and slide along the jagged edges of the wall on his back. No luck. Finally, after squirming for a good ten minutes he just stood there, his arms forced down flat against his body, his head resting on the wall in back of him, panting heavily. _Maybe I'll be here forever, _he mused, scoping his surroundings. _Not bad…but I'd miss the rum and the view…_

So there he stood, decidedly stuck, trying to figure out what to do. He saw the light from the hole in the cave wall, placed a few feet above him, wean and change colors, from a bright yellow to a gorgeous gold to a dazzling red. Finally, the light dissipated all together, and he was left standing in virtual pitch blackness.

Minutes passed by and still he did nothing…there was nothing to do. Hours passed and he noticed, to his dismay, that an itch on the tip of his nose was born, and he scrunched his nose in every direction as if hoping to miraculously evade the itch. Finally, after minutes of complete agony he leaned forward and scratched his nose upon the rough surface of the serrated rock in front of him, sighing afterwards.

He cleared his throat and began humming none other than _A Pirate's Life for Me, when a direct beam of moonlight fell across him, hitting him directly in the chest and cascading towards the floor. He suddenly felt lighter and less claustrophobic and looked down to see no flesh, but bone. He smirked and stretched, muttering, "Well, at least the bloody curse is useful for something…"_

Without further ado he shimmied his way out of the crevice, and as soon as he was out of the moonlight he turned back into flesh and blood. Admiring himself for no real reason, he adjusted his effects, tilted his hat, flicked back his hair, plastered a grin on his soiled and tanned face, and proceeded towards the chamber of the gold.

The rest of the way through the cave was easy. There were no more narrow passageways, no more forks in the path, no more crevices three feet in width. It got darker and darker as Jack proceeded deeper into the cavern, and suddenly he felt extremely claustrophobic again. The water at his feet became murkier and colder, but he took no mind to it as he stumbled upon what he had been looking for: a chamber, the entrance covered by the Jolly Roger flag. He rushed forward, ripped down the flag and almost let out a cry of happiness when he saw, a few yards in front of him, the chest. He grinned in a self-satisfactory way, pushed forward, flung open the chest, and nearly fainted as he saw what was inside.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing was inside…

…save a piece of parchment with scribbled writing in black ink.

His heart thudding in his chest and disappointment flooding his veins, Jack cautiously picked up the note and read:

_Thought you could kill me, eh? Oh matey, the Curse has a mind of 'er own._

~*~

Elizabeth watched as the _HMS Sea Farer _took its last breath of air before it completely submerged into the clear waters of the Caribbean. All of her hopes and happiness submerged with it.

But she wasn't about to show Barbossa that.

"Now, missy, I would love to see how that cap'n of yourn gets off _this island," Barbossa grinned at her. She glanced at him disgustedly, then decidedly marched off to stand at the end of the ship, looking back at Isle de la Viento as it sank into the distance. Wiping her eyes she suddenly turned and shouted, "Where's my husband?"_

"Aye, your husband," Barbossa growled. He motioned to his first mate to lead her down to the brig to see him, shouting after her, "and ye might as well stay down there to keep him company."

She was led down to the brig and crumpled her nose at the moldy smell that awaited her senses. She squinted in the darkness and could barely make out a cell, only about five feet long and three feet wide, with a small figure sitting against the wall.

"Will?"  
  


"Elizabeth!" Will stood up and Elizabeth saw him stagger, but nevertheless, he flung himself at the bars, reaching through them and grabbing her hands. He pulled her towards him and kissed her, tears of relief coming to his eyes. Rough hands separated them and she was put into an adjacent cell. As the door creaked to a close, Elizabeth felt a sudden feeling of haplessness invade her stomach.

"Are you hurt?" he croaked. Elizabeth could tell he was panic-stricken.

"No," she said. "Are you?" With the blinding darkness, she couldn't tell how he fared, but was calmed with a relief that flooded her heart.

"No." But Elizabeth knew he was lying. Somehow, though, she didn't pursue the matter; her husband was alive. Some hope and faith that had left her with the _HMS Sea Farer returned, and she felt as if a dozen weights had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. She could almost cry with the joy in the knowledge that she and Will were reunited. She had feared for him so much that she had almost convinced herself he was dead…or worse…_

Suddenly, a thought stumbled upon her relieved brain that made all of her worries somehow relinquish her jovial feelings. "Will, they left Jack on that island! We have to do something," she explained quickly as she wrung her hands, trying desperately to adjust her eyes to the absence of light. She expected Will to enthusiastically respond, expected him to have a plan already in motion to rescue Jack, expected him to express his worries but his faith in the fact that they would help him get off that forsaken island. She expected him to say anything but what he actually did.

"Serves him right."

It felt as though she was plunged into a vat of ice water. All of the air left her lungs and an omnipresent chill ran up her spine. Not only did her husband's words seem alien, but his voice seemed as if a stranger spoke them…she was horrified to hear that they were full of contentment and pure hatred.

_The curse…_

"What?" she managed to ask, although she had heard quite well.

"He abandoned, us, Elizabeth. He hid in his little captain's quarters while they took me and did whatever they wanted with you." In the silence that followed, Will decided to speak again. "He's a coward, Elizabeth, nothing more."

"He's not a coward," she said through gritted teeth, thoroughly alarmed. This wasn't her husband…

_The curse…_

"Yes he is. He's a pirate, and always will be. Nothing but a disgusting, selfish pirate-"

"Who wouldn't ever hesitate to save your or my life," she finished harshly, her eyes wide with fear and misery. She suddenly felt a shudder come over her, enveloping her in its troubling embrace. Disappointment rung in her ears as she realized that the curse was in control of his mind and body…at least, as far as she knew.

But what she didn't know was that Will suddenly felt an enormous rush of guilt. 

_Why are you feeling guilty, lad? Jack's the enemy, Jack helped Barbossa capture you, Jack was too cowardly to stand up for you in the face of your enemy._

Buthe abruptly realized, despite his mind telling him otherwise, that Jack wasn't the enemy; he wasn't the one who was helping Barbossa, he wasn't the coward who refused to stand up for his friends, he wasn't the one who had fallen victim to the curse without a fight.

Jack hadn't done any of those things…

…and desperation consumed Will as he realized that he had done all of them.

~*~

Please review.


	13. Marooned and Undead

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Only the plot.

**A/N: **Ok here's what happened. So I updated chapter 12 today and it worked…Gwyn reviewed it. And then it suddenly decided that the "chapter doesn't exist", so I posted it as chapter 13 (because it didn't work as chapter 12)…but now it IS working as chapter 12 and _The Pirate's Way _is posted as both chapter 12 and 13. That drives me nuts (being a perfectionist) so I am going to update (yes, again. Twice in the same day…my poor muse is going to faint with exhaustion). Ok, so I hope you enjoy. I love you all!

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Marooned and Undead_

 Never before had he ever considered committing suicide. The thought had never crossed his mind, and, as far as anyone knew, it wouldn't ever. But the reality was undeniable, the hopelessness insatiable, the outlook grim. He was stuck on an island once more, alone, while Elizabeth and Will were at the hands of Barbossa and his undead crew.

But then he realized that he _couldn't commit suicide…he was already dead…well, sort of. Part of him was upset that he would undoubtedly be stuck on that island forever; no one ever came to Isle de la Viento…many said the island was haunted and belonged to dark spirits, thus naming the entire group of islands Casa del Diablo. Disappointment crept into his mind as he thought of himself, forever sitting on that beach in complete misery and utter solitude. He would go mad with the loneliness and the total seclusion that he would have to endure. It was frightening._

But the other half of him was almost relieved in a way. The fact that he couldn't commit suicide made him feel almost invincible. The great Jack Sparrow that everyone knew wouldn't be killed. The sardonic, sly, seemingly-drunk, voracious Jack Sparrow that most people loved and everyone knew would still be alive, sitting on the beach, nabbing a tan before a dinner he couldn't eat. 

As he sat on the beach, letting the hot grains of white sand nip at his rolled-up pants legs, he stared at the deep blue sea, waves peacefully crashing upon the smooth, sandy shore merely a couple feet in front of him, the soft moonlight shimmering on the waters in front of him. The smell of salt invaded his nostrils as he inhaled, trying to, calmly and rationally, think of what to do next. 

But his thoughts quickly turned to Elizabeth and Will. Elizabeth….she was expecting….expecting to a husband who was under complete control of a curse that wanted them all dead. Jack hoped she hadn't told him, but knew that she wouldn't; that girl had an intelligent head on her shoulders, and he knew she wouldn't let information like that slip to Will in his condition, even though Jack knew she loved him more than anything else in the world.

And Will…Jack only hoped he would survive. He glumly realized, however, that the prospect was thin; Barbossa needed Will's blood to reverse the curse. Barbossa thought Will's blood would leave him and his crew unable to die, but able to enjoy the pleasures of life. Little did Barbossa know that it wasn't Will's blood he needed, but his child's…

Barbossa would have to wait nine months for Elizabeth to give birth. This thought brought a little consolation to his heavy heart; Elizabeth, at least, would have nine months to figure out how to escape. However, in her delicate condition, Jack wasn't so sure she would be able to. And, to his dismay, he realized that if she failed, a whole family, a family he cared about as if they were his own, would be murdered at the hands of his worst enemy.

Jack hated feeling helpless. He had always been the one to think of a plan and act upon it, never letting his friends suffer alone. But sitting on an island in the middle of the Caribbean with nothing but a sword, three shots to his pistol, an empty flask, and an undead body drove him insane. He resolutely stood up, angry with himself for being so stupid as to read a map of which he knew nothing of its origins…

_But it was from Gibbs, _Jack thought, narrowing his eyes. _Why would Gibbs want to deceive me…?_

With the thought of Gibbs came the memory of losing his entire crew aboard the _Pearl_. His heart suddenly felt as if it had burst as he remembered holding AnaMaria in his arms as he watched her bleed to death, struck by a sword that had penetrated her heart…

He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he stared at the blank horizon in front of him. He'd be damned if he let anyone hurt the ones he loved again…

And he loved Elizabeth and Will.

He let out a cry of aggravation. He would go through hell and high water to rescue them. If he could walk across the ocean to save them, he wouldn't hesitate in the slightest…

_Walk across the ocean._

Jack suddenly felt absolutely and utterly stupid. He was dead…or, rather, _un_dead…he could walk across the ocean at will…

He quickly picked up his effects at his side. He hooked them on to his belt and sash, his heart beating fast, adrenaline running through his blood…if it took walking through the whole Caribbean Sea to find Will and Elizabeth, he would do it.

And as he submerged into the clear and fresh saltwater of the sea he grinned, picturing the look on Barbossa's face when he realized that Captain Jack Sparrow simply could not be marooned _anywhere._

Especially not on an island without rum.

~*~

I know it was short, but it was something for posting twice in 8 hours. Expect the next chapter very soon. Thanks everyone…especially Lizzi for that last line. Love ya.


	14. Leverage and Luck

**Disclaimer: **The plot is mine, the plot is mine, the plot is mine. Oh yes: the plot is mine. Anything else? *grumbles* No….

**A/N: **WOW. 219 reviews???????? I love you all! It's amazing! Thank you so much for everyone who is reading and/or reviewing. Ok. Now I just went to see PotC _again _last night (yes, I'm afraid I'm becoming a tad too obsessive) and it made me think a great deal more about my plot. So, I am now inspired to write the next chappy. Enjoy, mateys.

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Leverage and Luck_

_Sorry, Jack, I won't be your leverage._

Will sat in the corner of his cell, shivering. It was now night, and the water had turned chilled as a snippy breeze fluttered in through the cracks in the hull of the ship. He turned to look at Elizabeth who refused to return his gaze. She hadn't spoken to him since he had said those things about Jack…

_Those things are true, mate. He was going to use you as leverage…who's to say he didn't finally succeed?_

He put his head in his hands and sighed. Everything had been so easy, so good, until Jack had come back to Port Royal…

_Aye.__ He disturbed your tranquil life, didn't he, Will? He dragged you and your wife from your peaceful and safe home into the dangerous waters of the __Caribbean__, where both of your lives are at risk. What a wonderful friend, eh?_

Will was so utterly confused upon where his loyalties lay that his mind spun and began to throb. He was sick of the voice in his head, but somehow he almost _appreciated it. _

_You ne'er trusted pirates, and for good reason too. Why start now?_

It was true…he had spent his whole life hating pirates. His mother had told him never to mix with that lot, and he now knew why: she was terrified her son would abandon her like his father did. 

His father…

His father completely walked out of his life. He neglected his wife and even his own son to be with pirates…to be with Jack. He had always felt deserted by his father, but never had he felt spiteful as he did now. Suddenly, a great hatred rose in his stomach as he realized why he hated Jack so much.

_Jack took your father away from ye, Will. That father of yourn would've rather been sailing around with Cap'n Sparrow than teaching his boy to swim._

He locked his jaw and stood up, walking to the right side of his cell, toward Elizabeth's. He could make out her delicate silhouette propped up against the cell bars, facing away from him, her head resting gently upon the iron.

"Elizabeth…?"

She didn't turn, nor did she answer. The anger that already collected in his gut began to grow. "Elizabeth, answer me," he said, pleadingly.

She didn't respond.

"Elizabeth," he said more forcefully.

Nothing.

"Elizabeth," he said through gritted teeth. Why wasn't she answering him?

"ELIZABETH!" he screamed, banging his fist on the iron bars violently. 

_Looks as if your own wife is abandoning you too…_

He heard a rustle of movement as he saw her stand up, brush herself off, and turn to look at him, a blank expression on her face. But from the way she was breathing raggedly, he could tell she was crying. But somehow he didn't care.

"Elizabeth."

"What." The response was dull, emotionless.

"I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell," he lied. He wasn't sorry at all, and yelling was exactly what he had meant to do. When she didn't respond he swept a hand through his brown hair, thinking of what to say next.

_Not responding to you, eh? What happened on that island with Jack, I wonder?_

Will narrowed his eyes as he studied his wife who was now looking down at the floor yet nevertheless defiant. What _had _happened on that island, and why was she suddenly acting so distant?

"Jack abandoned us, Elizabeth," he started without preamble, staring at her. "He left us to the hands of Barbossa while he sat in his cabin drinking rum."

"It's not true," she said. He could tell she was on the verge of frustrated tears…and he was glad.

"Oh yes, it is," he continued, a smirk spreading across his handsome face. "He abandoned us, Elizabeth. He left me to be beaten and tortured by this crew, and left you to the hands of Barbossa who miraculously decided to leave you on board the _Sea Farer. _He's a coward, a useless scallywag. What I want to know is, darling, why you defend him." He said the last with such disgust and such condemnation that Elizabeth looked up, shocked.

"What?"

"Why do you defend him, Elizabeth? What do you have to hide by doing so?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but he didn't let her. "I know you love him, Elizabeth. Granted, maybe not love…but _lust_ could be the appropriate word." He smirked evilly as she stared at him, open mouthed. "Oh yes, Elizabeth, I know you do. No need for you to deny it."

The silence that endured only made Will's suspicions even more convincing. He watched her stand there, silent tears falling from her eyes. He was glad he was hurting her, glad she was in pain…now she felt exactly as he did. 

_So mate, Jack is not only responsible for your father's neglect, but your wife's as well._

The two people he had loved more than anything else had been taken away from him by Jack. He was in pain because of that pirate, and he refused to suffer alone….

"I can't believe you, Will," came the soft response, barely above a whisper.

"What?"

"It isn't you who's speaking."

"Don't be ridiculous," he spat disgustedly. "Only it's not the naïve blacksmith boy who once believed you loved him speaking. It's an experienced pirate man who is now knowledgeable about the world and how it turns."

"I _do love you, Will, you know this. I-"_

"Yes, you love me, do you?" he interrupted angrily. "That must explain why you're blindly defending the man who wants me dead." Will saw Elizabeth open her mouth to reply, but no words came out. "So it's true, then, is it?" he asked with disgust, knowing full well the answer. "You and Jack are a happy couple."

He saw her shake her head, lowering her eyes to the floor. He knew how much he was hurting her, but she couldn't possibly know how much she hurt him.

_'Tis Jack's fault…Jack is the reason your father abandoned you. Jack is the reason why your father is dead. Jack is the reason you are going to die. Jack is the reason your wife doesn't love you anymore. What more evidence do you need, Will, to realize that Jack is your mortal enemy?_

"Yes," he said aloud, studying his wife's deadened eyes. "Yes. What more evidence do I need?"

_None, Will Turner. You need none._

~*~

It was the strangest sensation he ever had. He couldn't feel much, due to the curse, but what he could sense was extraordinary. The vague tingling sensation that crept up and down his body made him almost shiver with delight. Pools of fish swam by him, slightly perturbed at the disturbance made by a human walking on the bottom of the ocean. 

The mere fact that he could _breathe underwater astonished him. He grinned mischievously. _The fun I could have doing this, _he thought. _Even_ _better than impersonating that cleric…__

 The water was shallow yet, so the new sunlight still streamed down upon him, making his path visible. As he studied a peculiar looking fish to his right, a slight disturbance in the water made him look up. Suddenly it grew pitch black and he narrowed his eyes in a desperate attempt to see what was happening. 

He soon realized that a large ship was passing overhead. Deciding to see what kind of ship it was, he pushed off from the sandy bottom and floated gently to the underbelly of the large vessel. As he touched the wood he immediately knew that the ship belonged to the Royal Navy; the wood was in exquisite condition and hardly corroded. He knew it would take thousands of shillings to keep it in this condition, and knew that no sailor could afford that upkeep unless it were the likes of the Royal Navy…

He slowly floated upwards and surfaced, feeling slightly more vulnerable than he had under water. The ship was moving quite fast, so he grabbed hold of a loose piece of rigging and pulled himself up, climbing the rope, using the ship's hull to place his feet.

He had expected to see the stiff gentlemanly sort, the ones with the powdered wigs and the primly smoothed uniforms, and wasn't surprised at all to notice that he had been correct. Ship-hands moved busily about the deck, scrubbing the hull and making sure to mast the rigging. As he watched a particularly fat sailor try to hide a sandwich in his pocket, he heard, "Oi! You there!"

He turned to see a fairly young soldier pointing in his direction. Jack's eyes grew wide and he had barely time to react when he felt many hands lift him over the side of the ship and onto the deck where he fell on his bottom with a thud.

Jack sat on the floor rubbing his behind, wincing. For some reason, that had hurt more than it should have, considering the curse. But he took no mind to it as he felt himself being hauled to a stand by two heavily armed guards. He rolled his eyes in exasperation as one of the guards, a young man who looked to be no older than sixteen, fumbled with the iron clappers. 

"Oh enough! Here!" Jack said exasperated, grabbing them and clasping them on to his own wrists. "Honestly, shouldn't you be at home helping your mother cook dinner?" he asked, eyeing the soldier. He saw his face flush but had no time to respond when he heard a dignified voice behind him.

"I don't believe it."

He recognized the voice…it sounded very familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly who it was. He turned and found himself face to face with a man who he both hated and admired.

Commodore Norrington.

"If it isn't Jack Sparrow," the Commodore said, a small smile appearing on his regal face. 

Jack, knowing full well that the Commodore was not a man to jest with, decided against remind him that his name was _Captain _Jack Sparrow...because then the Commodore would ask where his ship was, and quite frankly, Jack didn't have the heart to tell him.

"Aye. Pleasure is mine, Commodore," he bowed dramatically, grinning. He looked up to see that the Commodore could no longer hold back a smile.

"Now, Mr. Sparrow, what brings you out in the middle of the Caribbean Sea, only a few miles off from Casa del Diablo?"

"I wasn't doing anything illegal, honestly," Jack suddenly said, the grin receding from his face. 

"Going for a swim, then, I suppose?" the Commodore suggested.

"Ahhh…more of a _bath_, I would say," Jack responded. "I think I began to stink something awful."

"Well that surprises me," he replied. "Who put those on you?" he suddenly asked, frowning at the iron clappers. Jack didn't hesitate to point at the sixteen-year-old soldier accusingly, his eyes wide and innocent.

"Man, what is wrong with you? Remove those immediately!" snapped Norrington as the young soldier hastily removed the handcuffs, throwing Jack a vengeful look. Jack merely smiled and replied a swarthy "better you than me, mate" before following Norrington into his quarters.

"Now, Mr. Sparrow, in all honesty, what were you doing out there?" he asked, taking a seat behind a large oak desk. Jack stared at him blankly, unsure of where to start.

"To be frank with ye, Commodore, I don't have time to relate the whole story to you," he said, studying Norrington's suspicious expression on his face. "All I can tell you is that Elizabeth and Will Turner are in danger…grave danger from Barbossa and his crew who have returned. And this time, mate, it's just you, me, and the wind in our sails to help us find them."

Norrington sat back in his chair, obviously considering what he had just said. Jack waited, fidgeting with his effects and his hat, nervously waiting for the man to speak. "I believe you, Mr. Sparrow," he concluded, standing up. "I will entrust with you the lives of myself and my men to rescue Mr. and Mrs. Turner." Jack put his hands together and bowed slightly. "May I remind you, however," Norrington continued, "that if this is some elaborate pirate trick, it will not be tolerated. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Jack said, nodding.

"Very well then. Carry on." Commodore Norrington gestured to the door, and Jack nodded warmly, spun on his heels grandly, walked out on deck, took a deep breath, and realized to his sorrow that this was the first time he would be on a ship without any pirates at all.

~*~

Hope you enjoyed. Please review?


	15. Turning a Blind Eye

**Disclaimer: I don't own any character….yet. But I DO own the plot. At least I own _something…_**

**A/N: Thank you all so much for reviewing….as they say: A review a day keeps writer's block away! ^.^ I'm glad to hear you all are enjoying it. Although you all perhaps may be still a bit confused on a few issues, I am going to clear that all up in the next chappy….I promise! Until then, enjoy this chapter.**

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Turning a Blind Eye_

"So lemme get this straight," Pintel said, squinting hard at Gibbs. "Are ye tellin' the likes of us that you set it up so Jack Sparrow fired upon the Royal Navy?"

"Aye," came the gruff, if not hesitant answer.

"Why would he want 'im to fire on the Royal Navy in the first place?" came the confused inquiry of Ragietti, whose fake eye was spinning in his otherwise empty eye socket.

"Because," came the annoyed answer from Pintel, "this man here convinced Sparrow that firing on the Navy was the only way to outrun us and the cap'n… he convinced 'im that the Navy's ships are faster than us; that way he'd get to good ol' Bootstrap Bill's son before we could."

A befuddled pause filled the air in which Ragetti stupidly tried to piece all of the new information together. The three of them stood on the deck, surveying the marred fog that surrounded them, creating an eerie sense of foreboding. Each man was left to his thoughts until Ragetti spoke again, this question no stupider than the last. "So he fired upon the Navy, and then what?"

"He's dead, you blimey piece of one-eyed filth!" Pintel growled, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he reached for the mop, dunked it in a bucket of questionably clean water, and began to swab the decks.

"Jack Sparrow's dead?" came the awed response.

"Aye. Davey Jones's Locker is his new abode," commented Gibbs gruffly, crossing his arms and staring out into the calm water.

"Ain't that somethin'…" Pintel smiled, showing off his decaying yellow teeth. "Jack Sparrow is dead…"

"Aye. Ain't that somethin'," muttered Gibbs out of earshot of the other two.

"So now what are we schemin'?"

"Are those bloody questions of yourn ever going to stop?" Pintel shot back, glaring at the other. Without wating for an answer, he continued. "Now we're takin' Bootstrap's kid to the gold, spill all of 'is blood like we shoulda done the firs' time, and be relinquished of this forsaken curse," he finished triumphantly. The blank stare from Rigetti made Pintel roll his eyes once more before he continued. "WHICH MEANS," he spoke loudly, "that we will be unable to die, but able to enjoy life….food, riches, and women."

Rigetti's idiotic giggles reached Gibbs's ears, but he ignored them. He was too busy in thought, sorting out his plan, wondering how, in God's blue sea, he was ever going to be able to pull it off…

"So Will's blood will undo the curse then, aye?" 

"'Tis as clear as the Caribbean sea," answered Pintel, beginning to swab the decks again. "That kid has got the last of Bootstrap's blood in 'im, and since it's the youngest heir of Bootstrap's blood that we need to break the curse, turn immortal, and carry out the Aztec gods' revenge, killin' the Turner boy will do all of that for us in no time."

Rigetti giggled again as Pintel offered Gibbs what he assumed was meant to be a smile. "And we have you to thank for this, Mr. Gibbs," he added, bowing slightly. Gibbs nodded curtly and turned from them, knowing full well that if he received another one of Pintel's smiles or another wave of Rigetti's laughter he might be moved to murder both of them.

He stared into the peaceful ocean again as the fog lifted slightly, showing a full moon. A strange tingling sensation crept over his body, and he knew that due to the moonlight, he was completely void of flesh. He looked down in semi-amusement at his bare bones only lightly covered by ripped pieces of cloth that were once respectable pirate clothes. 

He couldn't stand Barbossa and his crew…they were an abomination in the name of pirate, as far as he was concerned. The only comfort he found now, as the winds began to pick up around him, was that the mutinous first mate and his crew weren't going to get half of the spit they expect to.

_After all, Gibbs mused, _the gods don't so quickly turn a blind eye to those who steal their gold. And these scallywags have already done just that. __

~*~

It was absolutely ridiculous that a pirate such as he should be standing at the helm, directing elite members such as the British Royal Navy in masting the sails and securing the rigging. It wasn't as if they didn't already know how to do those tasks; it was merely the fact that Jack had so much fun making them upset.

"You there!" he called, pointing a jeweled forefinger at an older, rather chubbier soldier. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Masting the sails," he muttered.

"I'm sorry, I must've missed the 'captain' or 'sir' in that statement…my hearing must be worse off than I thought. Please repeat yourself?"

"Masting the sails…_sir_," he responded with contempt, keeping his eyes glued to the deck.

Jack would have preferred captain, but quickly forgot about it as he asked, "You call that masting the sails?"

"Aye, sir."

Jack shook his head in mock disappointment and was about to respond when he heard a voice behind him say, "Well, Mr. Sparrow, I'm impressed. You've already had them conditioned to call you _sir_."

He turned to face Commodore Norrington, grinning. "What can I say? They look up to me…a role model, if you will."

"Ah yes, of course," Norrington mused, approaching the helm, a wry look of amusement creeping across his dignified face. "A role model…pillaging, thievery, mutiny…all commendable pastimes, no doubt."

"Some men powder their wigs, others steal 'em," Jack responded, waving his hand extraordinarily. "I just happen to do both."

"Mr. Sparrow-"

"Jack, Commodore. Jack will do."

"Very well….Jack. I would like to speak with you privately, if you're so inclined."

"Lead the way," he said extravagantly as he followed Norrington into the captain's quarters, and shut the door behind him.

"Will you take a seat?" the commodore gestured to an upholstered chair in front of his desk that he now sat behind.

Jack sat upon the chair and hoisted his feet to rest upon the finely carved wooden desk of Norrington's. However, upon seeing the look on the commodore's face, Jack quickly removed his feet, pushed himself upright in his chair, and muttered a "Pardon."

"Now…Jack," he began. "I must know where you are planning to take my crew and I. I must be frank…as much as I care for Elizabeth's safety…as well as for her husband's…I am in no position of authority to risk the lives of my crewmembers due to a hunch of yours."

Jack stared back at the man in front of him for a while, deciding on how to answer. He knew Norrington had a sense of duty to the Navy, but also carried a valued sense of logic, loyalty, and bravery as well…all fine commodities of a well-to-do commodore. He knew he couldn't lie to the man, as much as he wished he could, so he decided, for the first time in a long time, to tell the whole truth.

"I am going to be spit blunt with ye, Commodore," he spoke softly. This took Norrington by surprise…it didn't sound like the flamboyant and overly-smug Captain Jack Sparrow that he knew. "I don't know where we're going. Call it…a hunch. Call it a whim. Call it sailing by the winds. Call it what you may. All I knows is that Elizabeth and Will are going to die at the hands of Barbossa if we don't save them. And if all goes as I fear it might, more souls will be damned to eternal suffering than originally accounted for."

Norrington sat back in his seat and brought a hand to his chin, rubbing it slightly. "I don't understand you, Jack."

"I don't either," he admitted. "But that's not the point I'm trying to make," he pressed on, now sitting at the edge of his seat. "I have an intuition, if you will…on where they're going. I know you're an honest to goodness man, Commodore, but I can't promise you that those men of yourn are going to come out unharmed. However," he spoke on, ignoring the fact that Norrington had opened his mouth to speak, "if you don't do anything about this, mate, I can promise that there'll be more than guilty pirates rotting in the dusky pits of hell."

"Then you're saying the curse is back," he asked cautiously, eyeing the pirate across from him.

"As I've said before…it never left. Took a hiatus."

"Is that so?"

"Aye, Commodore, it is."

Norrington sat silently for a few moments, staring into Jack's brown eyes before he answered. "I don't know why I believe you. You're a pirate, you're a liar, cheated the gallows _twice_, stolen a ship from the Port Royal docks, and have shown no signs of reform nor regret."

"Ahhh," Jack smiled, sitting back comfortably. "But you _do trust me?"_

"I hate to say it, but I do," he agreed cautiously.

"Brilliant! Absolutely smashing!" he shouted, gesturing wildly as he stood up unsteadily, a wide grin on his tanned face. "I really thank ye, Commodore…can I call you Com, or Commie for short?" Upon noticing the 'you're-only-alive-because-I-didn't-pursue-you-or-you'd-be-hanging-from-the-gallows-with-a-noose-around-your-neck' look hatched on Norrington's face, Jack quickly corrected, "No, no…Commodore Norrington sounds fabulous…yes…"

"Jack," Norrington stood, just as the pirate was almost out the door. "I…trust that you know what you're doing then?"

"But of course," Jack responded, his arms wide. But as Jack turned from the commodore and out onto the deck, his stomach plummeted when he realized he had absolutely no idea what to do next.

~*~

Did that clear some of the plot up for you? I'm not done, so expect more clarifications in the next chapter. If you are confused on any technicalities of the curse, please let me know in a review. Thanks everyone! Hope you enjoyed.


	16. What Hell is Like

**Disclaimer: I don't own PotC, and I have come to the disturbing realization that I never will. The only item in this story that belongs to me is the plot, which I hope you are enjoying.**

**A/N: You are going to absolutely love this chapter. I promise.**

**Dedicated to: Lizzi who has had a terrible day. *GLOMPNESS* Take care, hun….I love ya.**

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_What Hell is Like_

Elizabeth prayed that Jack knew what he was doing.

The pirate always had an uncanny ability to worm his way out of even the stickiest of situations. Granted they were sometimes coincidental or just plain luck, but then again, Elizabeth would take both chance AND good fortune, considering the circumstances surrounding her.

As she sat in the corner of the brig, her legs drawn tightly to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees, listening to the water swish its way across the hull, she tried to avoid looking at her husband who had been staring at her for the past hour at least. Her emotions writhed and squirmed within her mind…how could she love him? He was a mere puppet, his brain being contorted and twisted into a perfect mold to benefit the heathen gods…he was unpredictable, he was unsteady, he was unsafe…

…but she loved him still. How could she not? The man she had loved since the day she met him, the man she was destined to be with, the man she would give her life to…the man who was the father of her child…

A sudden pause in the movement of the ship shook Elizabeth from her thoughts. She stood up slowly and noticed that no longer was the ship sailing on the seas…apparently, from the feel of the gentle rocking beneath her feet, it had thrown anchor.

Frowning in worry and overall confusion she made her way towards the front of her cell, grasping the rusty bars, trying to look past Will towards the stairs that led up to the deck of the ship. Expectantly, she heard two voices coming down the stairs and there emerged Pintel and Ragetti, bickering about something or another. 

"'Ello, Poppet," smiled Pintel. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and kept quiet as he opened Will's cell with a chain of old keys. "Yer off ter see the cap'n, Turner," he added, grabbing Will roughly by the shoulder and heaving him out of the cell. Her heart jolted as she saw her husband look back at her; she could have sworn he saw a look of sad regret and realization in his eyes. Suddenly extremely upset with herself for ignoring him considering he was laden with the curse, she shouted, "Where are you taking him?"

"To meet a chest of gold," Pintel replied as he marched Will up the stairs.

"Meet a chest of gold," Ragetti repeated idiotically.

"Take me with! I demand you let me out!" she screamed desperately, pulling on the bars in vain.

Pintel laughed. "You're in no place to demand anything, poppet."

"No!" she screamed, panic stricken.

"Elizabeth," Will whispered, pausing on the steps and looking into her eyes. She longed to run to him, to hold him, to never let him go… "I love you," he finished, and Elizabeth knew that look he had in his eye…the look of a man who was accepting death.

 Pintel chuckled and pushed him up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. It left her in complete darkness, standing helplessly, desperation rising in her throat. A single tear traveled down her delicate face as she quietly whispered words Will would never hear again.

"I love you too."

~*~

"Ah, 'tis Mr. Turner," grinned Barbossa as he stood at the wheel, petting Jack the monkey who stood perched on his shoulder. "How has that stay in the brig of yourn been?"

Will said nothing as his hands were bound behind his back with old rope, irritating his wrists. He knew he should have never told Barbossa that Jack was alive, he knew he should have never let the curse play upon his worst fears and deepest secrets, leading him to believe Jack was a coward, a traitor, an untrustworthy, greedy pirate…

_But he was._

If Will could tear the voice from his mind and beat it to death, he would. An incensed rage took over his body and he shuddered, desperately trying to control the urge to go on a murderous rampage. 

_Now, now, Will, don't ye deserve to die?_

_No, _he answered firmly, barely aware of the words Barbossa was speaking to his crew with a wide grin on his old face.

_Think about it, Will. Elizabeth hates you, Jack is marooned because of you, and now, thanks to that blood of yourn, Barbossa and crew will be alive to wreak pain and suffering upon the innocent souls that spent the trinkets. You've ruined more lives than is feasible right now, Will Turner. You deserve to die._

Reluctantly he realized that the voice spoke true. He _had condemned Jack to that island, he __had abandoned Elizabeth, accusing her of vicious actions that he knew, in his heart, she had not done. And he _would _be ruining millions of lives when the curse was lifted, leaving Barbossa and his crew the opportunity to get revenge for the gods. It was all his fault…_

"Those ears of yourn are still working, aren't they, Mr. Turner?" asked Barbossa loudly. Will turned to look at him and realized that the captain must have been talking to him. Will made no move to answer him; he merely stared into the beady eyes of a man who had seen too much but gained too little.

"Well obviously your mouth isn't."

Again, Will did not answer.

_You deserve to die, Will Turner._

"Take him to shore," came the quick order, and he felt rough hands grab his arms, lead him onto the row boat, and sit him down, his arms still bound behind his back. 

As they rowed to shore about a mile off, Will surveyed his surroundings and noticed, to his shock and surprise, he recognized the island they were destined for. Unsure of how he gained his familiarity and fairly alarmed by it, he ransacked his brain for the answer…unfortunately, he could find none.

The crisply clear waters turned lighter shades of blue as they approached the sandy shore. The slight breeze brushed against his face, creating an ethereal yet faux sense of relaxation and calmness. He looked up into the sky and saw that a line of dark storm clouds were heading their way, slowly yet surely sliding to cover the sapphire sky and warm golden sun.

The small boat hit the sand with a thud and Pintel heaved Will to a stand, dragging him onto the hot, white surface of the island. He looked around, searching in vain for a reason he found this place so recognizable…once again, he could find nothing. 

"Move," came the gruff voice and he was pushed forward, apparently instructing him to walk ahead of the rest of the crew, who had just arrived in their own boats. He walked up a sharp incline of sand to where there was a circle of palm trees, creating a tempting shade from the heated sun. Tufts of grass sprouted about randomly and, in the middle of the oval-shaped shade, stood a chest.

The chest of Aztec gold.

Will's heart began to pound and his breath caught in his lungs as he eyed the chest. It looked the same as he last remembered it as if it were ageless. He saw, from his left, Barbossa approach it, running his long, dirty fingers along the embossed ornate design, grinning madly at Will.

"I don't think we thanked ye yet, Mr. Turner," he smiled. The rest of the crew laughed. "Go on, lads, thank Mr. Turner." The men cheered and roared their appreciation mockingly, their eyes wide with anticipation. Will kept his eyes on Barbossa, refusing to let the voice in his head become more prominent.

_You deserve to die, Will Turner._

"Now, let business be business," he continued, the smile fading from his face. "Bring him ter me." He felt himself being shoved once again on the small of his back, towards the chest of gold, Barbossa kicked the chest and the lid flew open, revealing all of the tokens in their false splendor and glory. They shone brightly due to the sunlight, reflecting in Will's eyes so that he had to squint due to the brilliance of them. He was brought around to face the trunk and his neck was forced over the gold, just like he had been last time. Barbossa pulled out a knife, a different one this time, and whispered, "Let me take this opportunity to personally thank you, Mr. Turner. We couldn't've done this without ye." Will struggled against the hands pushing him downward, twisting and writhing in hopes of getting free, until he felt a heavy blow to his already bruised stomach, knocking the air completely from his lungs.

"Begun by blood, by blood undone…"

Will struggled to inhale air to keep himself conscious. His mind raced, his blood pulsated throughout his veins. He knew he was going to die; they would cut his throat, they would finally be free to bestow havoc upon all who had been unfortunate enough to come into ownership of those forsaken tokens…

He saw Barbossa raise his knife to slice Will's throat…

_You deserve to die, Will Turner…_

He heard the crew chanting like wild men, their faces expectant and anxious…

_You deserve to die, Will Turner…_

He closed his eyes and thought of Elizabeth. How he was going to miss her…

_You're going to die, Will Turner…_

He felt a sharp pain travel across his neck, followed by a warm rush of blood down his chest. His head felt light, his body grew weak, and a warm blanket of darkness drew itself over him, perhaps never to be lifted.

~*~

Jack felt a stab of pain in his heart so severe that he gasped, clutching his chest, falling to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut against the now-spinning deck of the _HMS Conquest, _and vaguely heard shouts of surprise followed by running footsteps in his direction. He breathed deeply but slowly, trying to avoid another pain like the one he had just experienced. It had attacked out of no where, and Jack wondered to himself whether he had a heart attack…

_I can't have a heart attack, _he thought, annoyed with himself. _I'm dead._

"Jack…Jack?" He looked up into the worried face of the Commodore, who stood over him, peering at him concernedly. "Jack, are you alright?"

"Aye," he mumbled, struggling to his feet. He felt hands steady him as he stood warily, facing Norrington. "I don't know what that was…"

_You know what it was, Jack Sparrow._

_Bloody hell! _He exclaimed, gritting his teeth. _Since when does my brain talk _back _to me?_

"What was the problem?"

Jack shook his head, then replied, "A terrible pain in my chest…nothing of importance," he added quickly upon seeing the inquiring look of the commodore. 

"A severe pain such as that should not be taken lightly," he responded slowly, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Come to my quarters and have a rest." He ordered the rest of the crew to continue masting, then led Jack into the captains lodgings and closed the door behind them.

"Sit," he gestured, and Jack did as he was told, feeling the pressure in his chest ease. Silence ensued, and Norrington stood behind his desk, as if searching for the right words. Then he asked, "What are you hiding from me?"

"Sorry?" Jack asked, looking the commodore straight in the eyes.

"You heard me plain and clear. What are you hiding from me, Jack Sparrow?"

The pirate knew he had to tell Norrington…it would only be a matter of time before he found out anyway. Jack stood up straight, the usual mysterious twinkle gone from his eyes, his usual drunken swarthiness absent. He opened his mouth to speak – 

_BAM._

The ship pitched and rolled so violently  that Jack was thrown from his secure pirate-footing across the room, and slammed into the hull of the ship. He groaned in pain as he felt a cut above his eye split open, spilling blood over his face. He stood up too quickly and fell backwards again as the ship rolled viciously towards the other side, throwing him against an upturned chair. He smacked the back of his head against it and felt a bump start to rise. The throbbing in his head increasing, he called, "Commodore? Commodore!"

There was no answer. As he attempted, once again, to stand up to find Norrington, another huge wave struck against the ship again, throwing him against the door face first. He struck hard and saw stars before his eyes as he fell backwards onto the floor again. He felt his face and was shocked to discover that he was, indeed bleeding.

_How in the blazes am I bleeding? _he wondered to himself, alarmed. _If I'm bleeding, then I'm alive…_

_WILL._

The ship turned violently again, and Jack rolled across the cabin, smacking into the commodore's heavy, wooden desk. He felt his shoulder snap and a sharp pain travel down his arm, but took no notice as he was thrown across the cabin again. 

_But Will's not the last of Bill's bloodline! __Elizabeth__ is pregnant…_

_Is she, Jack?_

He heard the voice in his head again but had no time to contemplate its origins as he laid his eyes upon an unconscious Norrington, spread eagled, a gash across his forehead bleeding profusely. He hurried over towards the commodore when the ship rolled again, keeping him from reaching Norrington by heaving him against the side of the cabin again. 

Panting in desperation and overall confusion he struggled to stand up when suddenly the ship rolled, pitched, and then turned completely over, capsizing. Jack was thrown once more and felt his cut sting as the salt water rushed in, filling the room at an alarmingly fast rate. 

"Commodore! Commodore!" he roared against the rushing water and huge waves still pounding the _HMS Conquest. _There was no answer.

He pushed aside drawers and furniture, searching frantically for Norrington. He suddenly spotted him, floating face-up, clearly unconscious. Jack heard another wave approaching and knew this one was huge; he could tell by the way the water in the cabin receded all to one side…the wave was a tidal wave, and would send them all to a watery grave if they stayed in the ship any longer. 

Jack reached for Norrington, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him towards the front of the cabin. The door wouldn't open, no matter how hard Jack pushed against it. He screamed in aggravation, but knew it was too late: the wave was upon them.

With a roaring that filled his ears, a rush of water, and a force that smacked against him rendering him useless, Jack wondered, for the first time, what hell was really like.

~*~

See you next chapter.   


	17. Jack Sparrow Island

**Disclaimer: **Only the plot, folks. Only the plot.

**A/N: **So I have come to the conclusion that many of you think I am a dirty, rotten author for leaving you with a cliffie like that. Unfortunately, I'm sadistic in that manner….I _love _to make my readers wait for the next chapter.

Well the wait is over. Here it is.

And by the way….I love each and every one of you. And your reviews too.

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_Jack Sparrow Island_

She hated crying.

A bloody nuisance, if anyone asked her. Crying was indeed very lady-like…but then again, she had never been a lady at heart.

But how could she help herself from crying? Her husband was dead and above her the deck creaked as Barbossa's crew celebrated a victory. They were now able to feel, to taste, to smell…they had all of the natural senses of men who were alive.

Only they were unable to die…

Elizabeth forced down a sob that began to emit itself from her throat and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't stand it; alone on a ship full of heathen, immortal, lusty pirates, with nothing but her good name to her ownership.

And then, of course, there was the baby.

It was inconceivable to think of raising Will's baby by herself. He would miss the child's birth, the child's laughter, its first words, its first steps. He would never see his son to grow into an admirable man or his daughter into a fine lady. He wouldn't experience grandchildren or their laughter. He wouldn't be able to tell them of his adventures with Jack Sparrow, the captain of the _Black __Pearl…._

He was dead. 

Heavy footsteps descending from the upper deck shook her from her thoughts. She looked towards the entrance and saw an outline of a man standing there. He was burly and broad-shouldered, yet she could not see any more of him due to the dark shadows that enveloped his face. She stood, brushed stray tears away from her face and asked with as much strength as possible, "What do you want?"

Only a heavy silence answered.

"What do you want?" she asked, fairly annoyed.

"A word with ye."

Elizabeth frowned as she noted the familiarity in the voice. "Who are you?"

"That is of no importance."

"It is if you would like a word."

A slight chuckle filled the air. "Same as always, Mrs. Turner. Haven't changed a bit, mind ye." Elizabeth didn't answer, but waited for the man to continue. "He ain't dead, lass."

Her breath caught in her lungs and her heart skipped at least two beats. "What?" she managed to croak.

"He ain't dead, miss. Only Barbossa fine right thinks he is. With a cut across the neck he bloody well should be. But he's got Turner strength in 'im, always did. Boostrap'd be proud." There was a certain kind-filled regret in the man's voice, and Elizabeth felt her guard drop ever so slightly.

"How do you know he's not dead?"

"He was a-breathin', Mrs. Turner. Dead men don't breathe."

Relief flooded her body so strongly that she almost let out a laugh of joy. She smiled and tears of happiness flowed down her delicate face. The man sensed this and said, "Jus' thought you'd want to be a-knowin' that, lass."

"Where are you going?" Elizabeth called as the man turned from her. He didn't answer so she continued. "I know you."

The man turned to face her again, his face still in the darkness. "Aye, you do."

She cautiously walked to the front of her cell and eyed him curiously. "Who are you?"

He walked toward her but stopped directly before he stood in the moonlight pouring in through a circular hole in the side of the brig. "These things don't concern you, Elizabeth. Only know that I am a friend, and that I'm here to save that husband of yourn and Jack."

"What?" 

A deep sigh filled the air. "I'm a cursed man, Mrs. Turner. Ever since I had the pleasure of meetin' a monkey that was up to no good. Barbossa's monkey…blasted animal…purposefully handed me that golden trinket in that bloody bar. Of course, Jack and I had been drinkin' ourselves blind, celebratin' the return of our _Pearl__. Mind ye, when that monkey gave Jack 'n me those coins we were right drunk so that we couldn' tell the difference between a ship and a log floatin' in the water. So, bein' as we are lovers of the fine ale known as rum, we spent 'em on free pints o' the forsaken drink. O' course, ye know what follows that."_

"You were undead," she whispered. "Gibbs, you were undead."

"Aye, m'lady," he said sadly. "We were undead. Jack 'n me, took us a while to realize it. O' course, he told me straight away the next day. I, however, kept it secret."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"Don' quite know that answer, Mrs. Turner. Perhaps I was ashamed, or maybe I was just stupid. The fact is that I knew Barbossa'd be out for young Will's blood."

"Wait, how did you know all of this?" she asked, her stomach churning in anticipation. "How do you and Jack know so much of the curse?"

"When yer undead, the curse asks ye to do chores for it…it gets inside yer head, Mrs. Turner. Tells ye to do things…told me to do things. I knew its plans to give Barbossa 'n his crew immortal life. I knew its plans of revenge upon all who have spent those accursed tokens. I knew, though, that it needed the final bloodline of the name of Turner to bring Barbossa and company back to life from the undead…the curse corrupts the very mind and rots the very soul. Tha's probably how I ended up betraying Jack."

Elizabeth, at first, didn't grasp the enormity at what had just been confessed to her. After a few moments of complete shock and denial, she suddenly felt furious and disheartened. "You betrayed Jack," she repeated quietly yet firmly.

"Aye," he responded, and Elizabeth knew he nodded his head from the way the shadows shifted on his face. "Told him to fire on the Royal Navy. Knew tha'd be the way to kill off the rest of the crew, and I hoped that it would somehow kill Jack too. But ol' Jack…he's smarter than the average Joe. He figures things out…he got away and got to Port Royal to you and Will. You see, Elizabeth, the curse talked to him too. But his mind is stronger than the rum he consumes…he ignored it. He knew what it was plannin' to do…he knew Barbossa was after you."

Comprehension, under any other circumstance would have been welcomed by her. Unfortunately, she was too busy contemplating ways to get revenge on Gibbs for betraying Jack to feel comfort in understanding everything she had been wondering.

"Look," Gibbs began again, shifting uneasily. "They won't be celebratin' for long, miss."

"What do you mean?" she asked reproachfully.

"The curse ain't lifted yet."

"What?"

"Barbossa didn' count on a couple-a things when he supposedly killed your husband. First, he assumed young Will was the last of the Turner bloodline, which he ain't."

"How do you know?" she asked breathlessly.

"Because, miss. You came in direct contact with the undead. The curse knows your blood…from when Barbossa slit your hand the first time. The curse is upset with you, Mrs. Turner, for trying to fool it by claiming that you were of the Turner bloodline."

"I never claimed-"

"I know, I know," Gibbs interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "I know it was Barbossa who was mistaken. But the gods don't like ye anyways, miss. Naturally, when you come in physical contact with the undead, you should've become undead too…and, you should've become under the influence of the curse yourself. But you didn't."

Elizabeth nodded, too overwhelmed with information to respond, not feeling the need to mention the awful drink Jack made her consume to see whether she had the curse or not. She hadn't… 

"And secondly," he continued, "Barbossa figured he had all of his gold pieces back."

"You kept yours?" she asked him wide-eyed.

"No, Barbossa confiscated it as soon as the curse had be under its control," he corrected. "But Barbossa doesn't know Jack's undead…and he also doesn't know that Jack still has his accursed token."

"So they didn't break the curse," Elizabeth mumbled incredulously.

"Aye. And they'll be in a right state when they realize it. Naturally, we can't go a-tellin' them your delicate condition. We'll have to tell 'em about Jack's coin."

"But they'll go after Jack!" she protested pleadingly. "You can't-"

"Trust me, Mrs. Turner," Gibbs said soothingly. "Jack has more of a chance of survivin' anything than any of us. All we got to do is keep them away from you and your baby's bloodline, and we might be able to keep them from gettin' the gods revenge for them."

The relief that she originally feld suddenly vanished from her body as she realized that Gibbs was still under the curse's rule….how did she know that he wasn't leading her into a trap?

"How do I know you're not still under the curse?" Elizabeth suddenly asked, her heart beating fast.

"Because, lass, if a man as daft as Jack can ignore the curse livin' in his head, then so can I."

~*~

The pain in his head suddenly vanished. His aching ribs mended, his shoulder stopped throbbing and he awoke to a pleasant Caribbean breeze infiltrating his lungs. He opened his eyes and only saw a bright blur of white. Blinking and rubbing his eyes he pushed himself up and was suddenly aware of the peaceful lapping of waves at his legs. He looked behind him and saw the vast Caribbean Sea ahead of him.

He turned around and saw, about twenty feet from him, Commodore Norrington lying face-down on the white sand. Jack ran over towards him and was thankful to find a strong pulse, and upon further study he found that he was breathing. He had nasty bruises on his face and a deep gash over his right eye, but the rest of him looked to be intact.

Jack stood up and, upon surveying his surroundings, almost let out a gut-wrenching cry. He knew this island…he had seen it before…twice before, to be exact…

Jack Sparrow's Island. The Island he was governor of twice before.

He was about to scream in aggravation again when something caught his eye by the palm trees about fifty yards away. He looked closer and saw that something metallic was gleaming in the hot Caribbean sun. Realizing that the commodore wasn't going anywhere any time soon and seemed to be in good condition, he adjusted his effects (which, thankfully, had not been stripped from him when he was washed ashore), and headed in that direction.

"Bleedin' Christ," he muttered as his eyes grew wide with comprehension. "WILL!"

He ran up the bank of sand and fell to his knees beside Will Turner who was lying face-down, profusely bleeding from a cut across his neck. He turned him over gently and almost cried with relief as he heard Will groan in pain.

Jack tore off a sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it as a sort of make-shift bandage to stem the flow of blood from his neck. He had been lying there for what could have been hours, and Jack had a good idea who was to blame for this…

Barbossa must have kept the chest of gold here, and must have only performed the ceremony a few hours before. Jack gritted his teeth…he would kill Barbossa if it was the last thing he ever did…

He knew he couldn't leave Norrington at one end of the island with Will bleeding at the other, so he picked the younger lad up, swung him over his shoulder, and wavered under the weight. "Why do I always feel like a bloody babysitter?" he mumbled as he carried Will down the sand bank and gently placed him next to the unconscious Norrington. Fear nipped at his heart in concern for Will, but he knew that he was his father's son; a brave family they were, and undoubtedly strong-willed. He reached over and felt Will's prominent pulse, just to make sure that his hunch was correct. Luckily, it was.

Panting slightly, Jack sat down next to both ailing men and rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how in the name of the sea he was going to get them off that island. But as soon as he began thinking, he realized that thinking was too hard at the moment.

"Bloody hell, I'll start a fire," he told himself as he stood up resolutely. He headed over to the palm trees and gathered pieces of dried bark and leaves. As he bent down to pick up another fallen branch he felt the sharp blade of a sword place itself at his throat.

"Well, well, well. If it ain't Jack Sparrow, our infamous rum-drinker."

~*~

Who's threatening Jack? Well, I guess that's what chapter 18 is for.   


	18. A Promise Unbroken

**Disclaimer: **The plot is all that's mine. The rest you have to thank Disney for.

**A/N: **Why hello there me matey! Ok so I know I've been evil…I just can't help it. It's that sadism in me that's just dying to come out….but hey. You know you love it. Don't deny it, friend, you love the cliffies. Who doesn't? *Smirk* Anywho, enjoy this chapter. Thank you for your reviews….I shall be posting personal thank-yous soon. J

**Pirates of the ****Caribbean**: The Winds of Change****

****

_A Promise Unbroken_

_What else could go wrong?_

_Stranded.__ No food. No water. No shelter. No form of communication. No ship. No women. No nice view. No women. No rum. No women. No rum…_

_And now someone is threatening me. What a lovely week._

Jack froze in mid-reach for a palm branch, inclining his chin ever so slightly in avoidance of the sharp blade that was resting firmly against his tanned neck. He tried to keep a slight feeling of panic from rising in his chest as the voice spoke again.

"Stand up…_slowly_, Sparrow. Very good. You follow directions perfectly when not under the influence of consuming the fine wine of the gods," the man commented as he rose slowly into a rigid stance. He still had not seen the man; he positioned himself behind Jack so that the hilt was directly in line with his left eye, the blade still against his throat. He could tell the man had a steady hand, for the blade trembled only slightly.

_The hilt is at the left, _Jack thought, still not daring to move. _The hilt is at the left? He's left-handed…_

"Dolan," Jack murmured in surprise. 

A familiar guffaw of laughter made Jack smile broadly as the blade was lifted from his neck. He whirled around and saw a face he had not seen in at least twelve years. Tanned as dark as he, wearing traditional sailor garb with what appeared to be leather boots was the last man Jack had ever expected to see. The familiar twinkle in the man's green eyes made his heart leap and as he looked over the worn but handsome face of Michael Dolan, Jack felt hope spark in his chest.

"Jack Sparrow, for the love of Mary," Dolan smiled, sheathing his sword and pulling Jack into a tight embrace. "What on earth are you doing _here…again_?"

"I might be askin' the same question of you, mate," Jack said as he pulled away, looking over his friend. "But I suppose you're looking for your rum?"

"Aye. Left some here when we took you aboard, what was it, twelve years ago, reckon?" Dolan asked.

"Yep. Twelve years…lots has happened in twelve years, Dolan," he said.

"I hear tell from some crazy lads in Tortuga that you went on some damn mission after the _Black Pearl,_" said the other, crossing his arms against his chest. "Don' be tellin' me…even yer not that thick, Sparrow."

Jack shrugged and grinned. "No, not thick. Just a pirate."

"So I hear."

"Look, I got lots to tell ye, but right now-"

"We figured those two men out there were yours, so don't be worryin' that pretty little head of yourn just yet about 'em. We were just so wonderin' as to why Norrington was with you."

Comprehension flooded Jack's mind…he had forgot about Norrington. The commodore was one of the reasons rum-runners like Dolan went out of business and had to sell everything they owned to stay aloft. Norrington was known for his bust of the Rum Ring barely a year before Jack went after the _Pearl__. No doubt it was still fresh in Dolan's mind._

"Ah, yes…that can be…ah, clarified," Jack treaded carefully. He trusted Dolan, but he knew that a man's lust for revenge on another for relinquishing and destroying his wealth, fame, and fortune could be a dangerous fantasy.

"Good. Jolly ol' Norrington and the boy have been moved aboard the _Victoria Anne, so we best be gettin' on ourselves, reckon?"_

"Aye," Jack agreed. They traipsed back along the island, and there, about one hundred yards into the clear sea, lay anchored the ship that had saved his life over a decade ago. She was a beauty to be sure, but had since rusted over and was in need of some obvious repairs, undoubtedly due to Dolan's misfortune in rum-running.

"Good ter have ye back, reckon," commented Dolan with a sideways glance at Jack. "This reunion would've been better if I knew what happened to all of that rum we stored…think Norrington got to it first?"

"Oh undoubtedly," said Jack, a little too fast for it to go unnoticed. Luckily, he was saved from response by a loud clap of thunder. They both looked up and saw that dark clouds were headed their way, quickly traveling across the sky from the determined wind. Without exchanging a word they both got in the towboat, taking up an oar a piece, and began the tedious row to the _Victoria Anne. _

"So who's this young 'un with ye, Sparrow?" Dolan asked.

"Oh…he's…ah….friend's cousin's…nephew's brother…" Jack huffed. Apparently he was more out of shape than he had remembered. Out of pride, however, he tried his best to sound as normal as Dolan did, even though the resistance of the waves against his oar was threatening to tear his arms off.

"Then why do he look like Bootstrap Turner?" 

"See, the funny thing is-"

"And don't lie to me, reckon. Not nice, Sparrow, not nice," retorted Dolan, slyly grinning. 

"Oh bloody hell," Jack mumbled. "He look like a Turner because he's Bill's son, savvy?"

"Bill's _son?" _repeated Dolan, obviously in shock at the news. "I didn't know he had a son…"

"Aye…not many…did," Jack gasped for air. His muscles felt like they were on fire…he needed to row more…

"How come he never told me?" 

"Ah…I'll tell ye…everything…when we…get off…this bloody….THING!" he roared in frustration. He hated rowing, and he especially hated rowing when someone was better at it than he was. The laughter that followed only made him more aggravated.

"Ay, stop bein' bitter," Dolan said with a lop-sided grin. "Ruins the fun o' things."

"Nothing…is fun about…rowing…I…hate…rowing…"

"Yer such a lass, mate. And I thought ye would stop with the eyeliner."

Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned to look at Dolan when the oar slipped from his fingers and into the sea. "No!" Jack pleaded reaching out with open arms towards his lost oar. "NO! Come back…._please….don't….oh damn," he finally gave up. Once again, Dolan erupted in gruff laughter._

"I thought you were only clumsy when you were drunk, Sparrow?"

"When I want your bloody opinionated snippets I'll ask someone else," he grumbled, watching the oar float away helplessly. 

"Aw, Jack, you'll feel nice and right when ye board the _Victoria Anne again, reckon."_

As he watched the oar float a few more feet and then descend slowly to the depths of the sea, Jack hoped Dolan was right.

~*~

The reunion with Dolan and his crew was more of a party than anything else. A few bottles of rum were passed around, some stale cinnamon bread, a few pieces of cut coconut meat, a plate of fried fish, and coconut wine rounded off a perfectly good meal.

Now that Will and Norrington were looking on the upside, Jack felt as if a heavy weight were lifted off of his shoulders. Norrington had finally come around and lay in his room, being taken care of by Dolan's aunt Ingrid, a tough old woman who had the worst pirate's mouth of all of them combined. She had greeted him with a huge wet motherly kiss on the cheek and Jack smiled as she grabbed him into a hug, squeezing him against her plump body. Ingrid informed him that both Norrington and Will would make a full recovery, and Ingrid (being the daughter of a Celtic herbal doctor) promised to health them both back to goods, even though she seemed quite hesitant about Norrington.

"So tell us here, Jack, what 'ave ye been up to?" asked Johnson, Dolan's first mate.

"Well, ah…'s a long story," Jack said drowsily. It had been an enormously rough day, and he was having a hard enough time avoiding the invitations to a glass of rum. "Actually, I'd be obliged to tell you all tomorrow-"

"Yeh can't get away from us that fast, now," Johnson joked, slapping Jack on the back causing him to choke on his fish. "Fess up. What 'ave yeh been doin'? Or should I ask _who?" he finished, smirking so wildly that Jack had to grin in spite of himself._

"I haven't been _doing _much…or anyone, for that matter."

"What? No wild stories about Scarlet this time, eh?"

Jack felt his face grow warm even as he smiled his most mischievous grin. They all laughed at his reddened face.

"Alright ye scabrous dogs, let the poor man get ter bed. He's been through enough without all you good-for-nothings interrogatin' him about his lovers, however countless they may be," cried Ingrid, showing up in the doorway.

"Now now, mum, don't be jealous of his lovers," quipped O'Doyle, a stout man with a mustache.

"Oh quiet, you. Sparrow, the young 'un's awake, if ye want a word," she shouted over the raucous laughter. 

Jack stood up quickly, mumbled a promise to tell him about that infamous night with Scarlet after he visited Will, and walked out of the tobacco-filled mess hall and into a small, dark and quiet side room. He squinted unaccustomed to the absence of bright light, and he heard a weak voice mumble, "Jack."

"Aye," he answered and blinked. He could now make out the vague outline of a bed in the corner of the room. He approached it slowly as to avoid a collision with any stray stationary bit of furniture, and finally sat down upon it.

"Jack…Elizabeth…?"

"Don't worry about her, you've got enough on your plate to be getting on with," mumbled Jack. He hated seeing Will like this; it reminded him of his crew.

"But she….Barbossa has…" he stammered, trying to sit up.

"Stop playing the bloody hero, boy," he retorted, pushing Will back down on his pillow. "You almost died. Try concentrating on getting better."

Will inhaled deeply and he knew that all the boy cared about was Elizabeth. _Just like his father again, Jack thought. __Bill cared for his wife more than anything…_

"We're going to find her," Jack heard himself saying. "We'll find her, savvy?"

"Pr…promise me."

"Sorry?"

"Promise me, Jack," Will croaked from the darkness.

Jack blinked a couple times before answering. A promise was the most powerful pact in piracy, partially because they were so often broken. A promise unbroken went as a pact between friends; never broken and omnipresent. Jack sighed and said, "Promise, alright? Now get some sleep. I really am a bloody babysitter," he muttered, walking towards the door.

"Jack?"

He stopped in the doorway and heard the distant rumble of laughter coming from the mess hall. He turned partially to show he was hearing, and Will said, "I'm sorry."

Frowning, Jack asked, "What d'you mean?"

But Will's rhythmic breathing and nonexistent answer meant he had fallen back asleep.

~*~

"How is he?" Dolan asked as he stood at the wheel, looking up into the darkening sky.

"Who?"

"King Arthur. Bloody, who do you think I mean?" he asked, shooting a sideways glance at Jack.

He shrugged. "He seemed to be on the up and up…a bit shaky."

"Aye. I'd be shaky too if someone slashed my throat open too," the rum-runner commented, peering out at the foggy horizon. "Speaking of that…"

"I know I owe you an answer. And I promise you'll get one tomorrow," Jack said softly, looking down at his boots. 

Dolan studied him for a few moments before answering. "Yer a different man, Sparrow."

"What?"

"A different man, reckon. Talk differently, walk differently…"

"I'm not becoming soft," Jack stated bluntly.

"No, nothing of the sort," agreed Dolan who was peering at him again. "Just…ye seem…" Dolan sighed. "Iono, Sparrow, I can't figure you out."

"Neither can I."

"I is serious. Seems like one moment you care nothing but for rum and women. Reckon if I had met Scarlet, from those stories I wouldn't blame ye," added Dolan slyly yet compellingly serious. "But now…now you care. 's like you got a purpose. What happened to yeh?"

Jack avoided Dolan's eyes. How could he tell him of his crew? Of the curse and the responsibility that rest upon his head? Of Elizabeth's pregnancy, Will's danger, and Barbossa's return? It would all have to wait until tomorrow, until he could gather his thoughts…

"As I said. Yer different, Sparrow."

"Aye?"  
  


"Aye." Jack saw Dolan turn to look at him straight in the eye. "But that don't mean that it ain't a good different, reckon."

He didn't know how to respond and thankfully he could tell Dolan noticed. "Don't let it all go to your head, Sparrow," he commented wryly, looking up at the sky again. "Yer still a lousy, pirating drunkard as far as I see. Now get some rest," he commanded, turning back to the wheel, "and we'll talk all about the Turner boy and Norrington tomorrow."

Jack nodded and turned, quite exhausted, towards his cabin. He entered the room, perhaps six feet by four feet in size with a cot at the far end and nothing else to occupy the limited empty space in the rest of the room, save a small cracked mirror hanging from the opposite wall. He unbuttoned his shirt and lit a candle, sending a misplaced eerie light about his quarters. He stretched and turned to get into bed when he caught his face in the mirror. 

_It can't be…_

He rubbed his eyes and checked the mirror again, just in case he hadn't seen correctly. To his utter shock, he had. He walked towards the mirror and thrust his face within centimeters of the cracked glass, checking yet a third time to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. He couldn't help but smirk and let out a wry laugh.

His cuts and bruises had vanished. He checked the rest of his body and noticed that not even a single scratch remained where there had been lesions and abrasions from the rough sinking of Norrington's ship, and noticed to his chagrin that he remained perfectly unharmed.

_I'm not bleeding because I can't…which means…_Jack grinned at himself in the distorted mirror. _I'm not alive. The curse wasn't lifted._ Jack looked up again to stare smiling at the candle, as it waned and eventually simmered into darkness.

_Elizabeth__ **is **pregnant._

~*~

Congrats to **Leap of fate **who guessed correctly about Dolan's identity!

To the rest of my reviewers…I love you all. Thank you so much…you  mean the world to me, and I'm glad you like this fic. I hope you like Dolan and Ingrid…they'll become increasingly important as the chapters go by. Do you like them? Let me know!  

**__**


	19. The Family Man

**Disclaimer: **Only the plot, matey.

**A/N: **I am SOOOOO incredibly sorry about making you wait so long for another chapter. I know, it's terrible of me…but I've been so busy lately that I can't help it. I will try and update now every Friday night, but I can't promise anything due to college applications and three other stories I am now currently writing (I started a new Harry Potter one, Lost Time). Anyways….ok. So here is Chapter 19. Thanks for waiting.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change 

****

The Family Man 

It was the cries of rage and shouts of fury that awoke Elizabeth from her already troubled sleep.

She rubbed her eyes and stood up quickly, ignoring the dizziness that struck her. Still partially sleepy she stifled a yawn and tried desperately to listen to what all of the commotion was about. She heard glasses breaking and growls of anger accompanied by a few more dishes apparently being thrown across the deck. Narrowing her eyes, she was about to approach the front of her cell when the door to the brig opened.

She squinted her eyes against the dull light and heard heavy footsteps descend the rotting stairs, the creaking creating a ringing in her ears. She could make out two men, one in a plumed hat, approaching her cell. She stepped back and remained silent.

Without preamble, the man in the plumed had growled, "Ye best explain this, miss." It was Barbossa. Elizabeth, unsure of what he was speaking, remained silent as he unsheathed his sword and thrust it into his own chest. 

The shock of his actions made her gasp and cover her mouth. She noticed, however, that no blood trickled down from the self-inflicted wound; as Barbossa pulled it out of his chest, she heard no cries of pain from him. She realized that he and his crew had finally realized that they were undead once more.

"I…I…I can't explain it," she confessed, still slightly shaken. She saw the man behind Barbossa light a candle in a holder, and recognized the man to be Gibbs. He wore a look on his face of warning, and she knew not to greet him in the slightest. She tore her eyes away from Gibbs to look at Barbossa who was wearing a sneer of the utmost disgust and wrath. 

"O I think ye can, Mrs. Turner. And ye better, before my somewhat upset crew comes down here to drag it out of you."

Sincerely afraid of facing a raging crew, Elizabeth sent the slightest sideways glance towards Gibbs, who cleared his throat and said, "Cap'n…I just remembered somethin'."

"What?" Barbossa snapped, his eyes still studying Elizabeth with the utmost distaste.

"Well…Jack – that is to say that monkey of yourn – didn't just give _me_ a coin…he took two."

Barbossa turned sharp around to face Gibbs. "_WHAT?"_

"Aye," the other continued. "Me and Jack Sparrow were sittin' in the bar drinkin' rum…I believe Jack got the other token."

Elizabeth could hear Barbossa emit strange gasp-like sounds, as if he were at a loss for words. A heavy silence permeated the dank air and she was not intent to break it. Luckily, Barbossa spoke once more. "So you knew Sparrow couldn't die, did ye?"

Gibbs shook his head, apparently calm. "No…I completely forgot, Cap'n. You see, I was awfully drunk at the time-"

"I DON'T WANT YOUR EXCUSES!" roared Barbossa so violently that Elizabeth took another step back towards the back of her cell. "THAT MEANS JACK ISN'T DEAD! THAT MEANS THAT THE CURSE DIDN'T BREAK BECAUSE WE'RE MISSIN' A COIN, YE FOOL!"

Gibbs, apparently biding his time, responded, "Ahhh…well, we could go after Sparrow, Cap'n."

"Aye…aye, we could. And we will," Barbossa responded. "Until that time, Mr. Gibbs, will ye kindly join Elizabeth in the brig?" He opened up the cell and motioned for Gibbs to get in. When he hesitated, Barbossa responded, "Or we could just throw you overboard and let you find your way back to mainland, if ye prefer."

Gibbs reluctantly entered Elizabeth's cell, and Barbossa slammed it shut. "You best be prayin' for the safety of your Jack Sparrow," he spat as he ascended the stairs to the deck, "because this time I'm going to kill him on the spot." With that, he slammed the door, leaving Gibbs and Elizabeth together in the cell with the only light source emanating from the candle in Gibbs's hand. 

"Great move, I must say," she snapped, looking helplessly around. "_Now _what do you propose we do?"

Gibbs sighed. "We wait until Barbossa catches up with Jack, wherever he may be."

"And then?" she asked impatiently.

He hesitated before answering. "And then we hope for a miracle."

~*~

By the time Jack had relayed the entire story of the curse, Barbossa, and Jack the Monkey, the crew looked as if they all had been hit in the face with a very large, very heavy object. None of them spoke, hardly any of them blinked. They all looked stunned, confused, and a tad sorrowful. Jack, not knowing what to say to break the quietness, just sat there and studied the rings on his right hand.

"So…so you're undead?" asked Johnson, frowning.

"Aye."

"Then why aren't you under the curse?"

Jack sighed. "It talks to me, of course. Figured that only a couple of days ago on that spit of land called an island. But I block it out…it doesn't effect me."

"How do we know you're tellin' the truth?" another man by the name of Barley growled, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'd know if Jack weren't himself, reckon," Dolan piped up from a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. His handsome face held no sign of mistrust, but Jack remembered his comment from the night before: _Yer a different man, Sparrow._

"Would ye?" countered Barley. "Think on it, Cap'n…you haven't seen Sparrow in twelve years. How would ye know?"

Murmurs, both of consent and of dissent spread through the mess hall. Desperation crept along Jack's spine, and he shivered despite the warm and humid air of the Caribbean. He _needed _to make them understand…he wasn't being controlled by the curse. His mind was clear, and he knew what he had to do: he had to get to Elizabeth before Barbossa figured out why the curse wasn't lifted.

Another man, McCollough, spoke out, gesturing wildly and speaking loudly. But Jack was immersed in his own thoughts…a realization struck him hard, and he nearly shouted out loud. There were _two _reasons why the curse wouldn't be lifted…granted, one was due to the fact Elizabeth was in her delicate condition. But the other…the other was hanging right around his neck. Absentmindedly, he reached for the make-shift hide chain that hung around his neck.

He gasped out loud when he didn't feel anything.

He looked down sharply, desperately searching his tanned chest for any sign of the chain that held the token, bestowed upon him by that bloody monkey. He frantically searched his pockets, his sleeves, his pants, and would've gladly searched every other oraphus had the crew not been present. Unfortunately, he couldn't find it anywhere. Amidst cries of surprise he ran out of the mess hall to search his room for the token. He threw apart his bed, ripped open the small dresser of drawers, and traipsed all along the boat, hastily searching every nook and cranny for the token while ignoring the curious stares from the crew who had been following him around like a herd of sheep.

It wasn't until after two hours of unfruitful searching that he realized he had lost the token. He looked up to find Dolan looking at him intently, and vaguely heard him ask what was wrong.

"The token," he answered blandly. "I can't find it. It's gone."

Murmurs rippled throughout the crew again as Dolan commented, "Well, that's good, reckon. Now they can't use it if it's lost."

"Only a matter of time before it calls to them, Dolan," replied Jack. "If it's lost on the ocean floor they'll stop at nothing to find it…and then we're all out of a pirate's luck, savvy?" he added bitterly, staring off into the horizon, thinking of all of the places it could be…

"Or they could find out about Elizabeth's condition…and then she and the baby…" he didn't finish his sentence. It was only then that he noticed that there was a new face among the crew. 

"What about Elizabeth?" asked Will Turner. Jack studied him and noticed that he looked much better than he had, but he was still insipid and looked unsteady on his feet. He still had a bandage wrapped around his neck, but it was hardly stained with any blood, Jack noticed to his relief.

For the first time in his life Jack was at a loss for words. It was his job to tell him about Elizabeth's condition. How in the name of the sea was he going to be able to do that? 

"Er…ahh…Will, let's go talk for a moment. In private," he added as the crew followed him as he grabbed Will's arm and led him into his room. Once there, he slammed the door in the crew's face and whispered to Will, "How much did you hear?"

Will just looked at him, a panicked look on his face. "Elizabeth's pregnant, isn't she?" he breathed. All Jack could do was nod. Will brought a shaking hand to his face to rub his eyes silently. His breathing became shallower and he slowly sat down upon Jack's bed, his face buried in his right hand. "I can't believe this," Jack heard him mutter.

"Will…that's why the curse didn't work with your blood," he said, sitting down next to him. "It needs the last line of Turner blood. Since your father was the last one to have the token, the curse specified that the last of your bloodline was needed to lift the curse. But you're not the last of your bloodline…"

All Will did was vaguely nod. He still had his face in his right hand, and Jack was afraid the poor boy would keel over in shock. His right knee was bouncing up and down in apprehension, and he kept letting out low sighs that almost sounded like vicious hisses. He would clear his throat every now and then, shift his head to rest on his left hand, and go back to breathing shallowly once more, completely silent.  He seemed to be in complete shock; the lad obviously didn't know what to do with himself…Jack could only imagine what it would be like if he had heard he was going to be a father…but then he stopped imagining that for fear he would laugh out loud. Him as a father? It goes without saying that it's a crime against humanity…

He nearly jumped when Will abruptly asked, "What do we do now?"

Jack stared at him incredulously. "We do what you always _want _to do, mate."

Will picked his head up to look at Jack and asked, "What's that?"

Jack imprecisely smiled as he stood up. "We save your bonnie lass, just like we did the first time. Only now, you have to let _me _do all of the pirate work."

"Why?" he asked he took Jack's hand, helping him to stand up. He was very pale now, and he was sweating slightly with very bloodshot eyes.

Jack slapped Will on the back and spoke loudly, "Because now, Mr. William Turner, you are officially a family man."

~*~

Hope you liked it. I wasn't too fond of this chapter…but MUCH more action next chapter. Oh, by the way…this story is going to be the first in a trilogy I think…all I know is that there is going to be a sequel to this. Just letting you know! 


	20. Grudges and Vengeance

**_Disclaimer:_** **Only the plot, only the plot, only the plot…******

**_A/N:_** **I AM SO SORRY!!!!!!!! Please forgive me? Please? I TRIED to post on Friday, but I had to go to my boyfriend's soccer game, and then there was an after party, and then I had to go to a swim meet Saturday, and then I babysat Saturday night, and then Sunday I had a birthday party to go to all day, and Sunday night I did homework, and then Monday I went to school and then straight to work…now, it's Tuesday, and I'm going to write a chapter. Sorry about that…I didn't forget about you! **Glomp** And now…chapter twenty.**

__

_Pirates of the _Caribbean___: The Winds of Change_

_Grudges and Vengeance_

____

"Aye? Wha's the matter?" Gibbs asked, thoroughly alarmed.

Elizabeth let out a soft moan, hugging her stomach with her arms. She had been having terrible pains…awful pains, in fact…for perhaps two hours. They came in waves, first a piercing hotness that originated right above her bellybutton, followed by another wave of small pinpricks that plucked across her entire abdomen. 

She sat in the far right corner of the cell, crouching, rocking back and forth, her eyes tightly closed. She felt sick, and she had no idea why…could she have the flu? Could she be seasick? Looking up into Gibbs's slightly porky face, Elizabeth winced once more, a grimace of pain showing itself along her lips. She saw Gibbs's eyes grow so wide that they almost bulged out of his sockets as he exclaimed, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…you ain't…you ain't…" He seemed unable to finish his sentence.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in exasperation as she realized what he was referring to. "MISTER GIBBS, I am hardly a month pregnant, I am NOT, under ANY circumstance, going to give birth at this moment!" she exclaimed, thoroughly annoyed. Did this man have NO common sense?

"No need to be sour, miss," grumbled Gibbs, still eyeing Elizabeth with slight apprehension. 

"Well I am extremely sorry, Mister Gibbs, if you were unaware that a woman must go through nine hellish months of carrying around a baby before she gave birth.," she snapped. 

"Beggin' yer pardon, miss," growled Gibbs, "but I wouldn't know, as I have never given birth meself."

Sighing in contempt and in no mood to bicker, Elizabeth felt a flood of relief as she realized the pains were gone. She knew they were of no significance…they were merely just morning sickness due to her condition. However, it still did not change the fact that she felt completely ill and disoriented, not to mention worried sick about Will and Jack. She wondered where they were, and she silently prayed that they would be able to somehow correct this forsaken mess that they had, for a second time, gotten themselves into. 

Early morning light began to shaft in through the cracks in the brig, sending an ethereal and eerie glow about the cell. Lifting her eyes from the puddle-strewn floor, Elizabeth's eyes rested on Gibbs, who, to her surprise, looked completely shocked, if not a little fearful. 

"Mr. Gibbs…"

"Shh!" His eyes were narrowed in concentration, his mouth slightly open. He looked as though he were straining to hear something in the far distance, so Elizabeth consciously made an effort to be as quiet as possible. Soon, all there was to hear was the creaking of the ship and the splashing of the waves striking the hull of the ship.

"Dear Lord," he murmured after a good five minutes of silence. He leaned against the bars of the cell. She noticed his face seemed to have slackened and there was an undeniable dankness in his eyes…a hopeless dullness that alarmed her greatly.

"What?" she asked, standing up. She felt slightly nauseous and wavered a little upon the change in positions, but nevertheless kept a firm grasp upon the wall, preventing her from toppling over. "What is it?" she asked again when Gibbs didn't respond. 

He looked to her somberly, as if he didn't know where to start. Scratching the back of his neck and cringing with insurmountable discomfort, Gibbs finally spoke. "It's the token…Jack's token. It's callin' to us, lass."

Horror struck, Elizabeth put her hands over her mouth. Gibbs merely nodded and added sulkily, "Should only be a matter o' time before Barbossa finds the token, along with Jack. And then," he paused, looking uneasily over his shoulder. "Then, miss, we're all in a world o' hurt."

~*~

"BLOODY HELL! CAN I NOT GET A DECENT NIGHT'S REST AROUND HERE?!" he screamed, sitting up in bed. In a fit of rage, he knocked over a candle in its holder, sending the hot wax flying across his hand. Growling in anger and annoyance, he rolled his eyes and wiped the back of his hand on his shirt, muttering, "Goddamn ships…I bloody hate sailing."

In the silence that followed that slight crisis, Jack heard it again. The slow, mournful (yet enticing) call. It filled him with a desire to go to it, to make it his, to become the rightful owner. Happiness dwelled within the very coin, and if he found it, if he just located it, everything would be wonderful, his heart would be content and worry-free…

Blinking, Jack vigorously shook his head. What was he thinking? 

Don't think, Jack. Just go to it…go to the coin.

He felt his mind become light, his body become comfortingly warm and secure. If he just found the coin, if he just made it his…

"No," he told himself firmly. "No way in bloody hell am I getting that coin."

The coin.

"The coin!" he yelled, standing up so violently that he nearly toppled over. The coin was calling to him…that's what it was! He could easily locate the coin and prevent Barbossa from reaching it before he did…

"So that's what it is…it's the curse that's still conversing with me," he mumbled, pacing back and forth. "But Barbossa's going to get there too…he hears it calling too…is it a trap?" he wondered out loud, rubbing his chin. "Is he just trying to get me there? No, he's not that smart…yet again, he did manage to maroon me THREE TIMES," he grumbled grudgingly.

"Er…who you talking to, reckon?"

Jack whirled around to see Dolan leaning in the doorway. Jack noticed he hadn't seemed to have aged a day since the last time he saw him twelve years ago. He looked to be the same young, strikingly handsome, roguish rum-runner that he had been when he helped Jack off of that island. But now, his clothes were shabbier, some of his jewelry gone, and there was a genuine happiness that had disappeared from his eyes. This was probably due to the breakdown of the Rum Ring, Jack figured. 

Slightly embarrassed, Jack mumbled, "Er…ah…no one, actually."

Dolan grinned childishly. "Oh, good. Just making sure it was you who was crazy, not me."

"As if you didn't know I was bloody mad," Jack countered, still somewhat distracted. He needed to figure out what to do about the token…if he knew Barbossa, he'd already be going after it at full speed. 

"So what are you thinking so hard about?" Dolan asked, frowning slightly. "I've never seen you think so hard in my life."

"Neither have I, now that you mention it."

"Seriously, Jack, what goes?"

Jack looked to Dolan for a moment and then answered, "The token…MY missing token. It's calling out to us…"

For a moment, Dolan looked completely confused, if not somewhat cautious. In disbelief, he opened his mouth to comment, and then shut it quickly. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Dolan study him very closely, looking him up and down, as if he would be able to tell just by looking at Jack if he were fibbing, telling the truth, completely mad, or all three. Jack knew Dolan was a good man…he was one of the few who he would trust his life to. But he knew that the rum runner had suspicions, and looking back on the situation, Jack didn't blame him in the slightest.

"So," Dolan spoke, clearing his throat, "where might this token of yourn be?"

Jack turned to look at the man, astounded. He believed him…he believed him? "You believe me, then?" Jack asked incredulously before he could stop himself.

"Aye, so don't go giving me any reason not to," grunted Dolan, standing up straight and adjusting his belt over his waist. "Now…where is it?"

"I don't rightly know," he murmured, listening to the constant drone of the token in his ears. "But what I DO know is that we should be going in…that direction," he added, pointing west. 

Dolan nodded, rubbing his left arm. "Aye…then we leave at once," he said swiftly. Before Jack could thank him, Dolan left the door and strode out of sight, presumably onto the deck to inform the crew. Jack gathered his effects and was about to follow when he almost walked into a man standing where Dolan had been barely thirty seconds before.

"Commodore," Jack breathed.

Norrington stood…no, he leaned against the doorway. His skin had a green tinge to it, a sickly pallid sweat forming at his brow. His eyes were slightly closed and unfocused, his wig gone, his once-regal Navy uniform now torn and tattered, an old blanket placed about his shoulders to keep him warm. His shoulder-length brown hair hung loosely in frizzed strands about his neck. He was barely recognizable as the former Commodore Norrington of the British Royal Navy. Now, standing before Jack, he looked more like a pauper. 

Nevertheless, as Norrington spoke, he spoke with precision and politic. "Jack," he began in his dignified voice, forcing himself to straighten up as he walked a few feet into the room. "I just wanted to…thank you…for…for saving my life."

"Oh, don't mention it," Jack nodded, averting his eyes to the floor. Was he imagining things, or was the commodore THANKING a pirate?

"No, I really appreciate it. It was very…noble of you, and I am grateful for your bravery, Captain Sparrow."

Jack felt as if he had been punched in the stomach…but in a pleasant sort of way. 

CAPTAIN Sparrow? Unbelievable, Jack thought, staring at the commodore. Did he just call me CAPTAIN Sparrow? The man who wanted to kill me barely two years before, the man who wanted to see me hang by my neck at the gallows, the man who hated pirates and all they stood for, was now thanking me and addressing me as a CAPTAIN?

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Norrington was a proud man, and Jack knew it must take a great deal of humbleness to thank and befriend a pirate. Finally, after a few moments of awkward silence, Jack grinned and said, "Sorry for the confusion, mate. But Jack will do."

Norrington narrowed his eyes, but Jack could see his lip twitch in an attempted smile. Still looking quite pale and ill, the commodore asked, "Why, pray tell, do you now decide to have me call you Jack for good?"

He grinned, placing his hat on his head ever so dramatically. "Because, commodore, its what my friends call me."

~*~

Now standing out on deck, Jack breathed in the fresh air, surveying the boundless ocean surrounding him. The waves gently propelled the ship forward, the masts full of the gentle night air. If only this bloody vessel would move faster, Jack brooded with a heavy feeling in his stomach. Only hope that bastard Barbossa isn't there yet…

" - ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"DON'T BLAME ME FOR THE FACT THAT YOU'RE AN OUTLAW!"

"AT LEAST I HAVE HONOR IN MY JOB!"

"YES, ILLEGAL RUM TRADING IS A REWARDING AND PRINCIPLED JOB, TO BE SURE!"

"Oh Christ," grumbled Jack, heading off in the direction of the screaming. Looks as if Norrington and Dolan have met at last, he thought grumpily.

Walking into the mess area, Jack was greeted by a china cup flying past his ear, missing him by milliseconds. Wide-eyed, he stared across the room to where Johnson, Barley, and McCollough were restraining Dolan from pouncing on Norrington, who stood valiantly, his sword drawn, with young Will Turner in front of him.

"Aye, ye bloody bastard!" screamed a voice to his right. He looked to see Ingrid plow past Dolan, holding a rolling pin threateningly above her head. "Putting us out of business! We 'ave no money left, thanks to ye! Broke, left for nothing!" 

"Ma'am…no, Ingrid!" Will protested, grabbing her wrist and wrenching the rolling pin out of her hand. "Stop it!" he protested to her as he tried to prevent her from attacking Norrington with her bare hands. Will turned to look at him, and called, "JACK! Come here and help me!"

Unable to suppress a haughty grin, Jack strode over to Ingrid, grabbed her around her plump waist, and held on to her. "INGRID!" he yelled over Dolan's screams, Norrington's retorts, and Ingrid's own screeching. "INGRID! Calm down, lass, calm down." Jack's words seemed to have a calming effect, for Ingrid ceased in her mission to kill Norrington, but still wore the look of someone who, if provoked, would pounce at a moments notice. The commodore lowered his sword ever so slightly. But Dolan was as furious as ever, and still required the three men to work as restraints.

"BLOODY COWARD, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE! THINK YOU'RE HIGH AND MIGHTY, DO YE? DO NOTHING BUT WEAR YOUR FANCY WIGS AND YOUR FANCY UNIFORM, RECKON."

"Dolan, shh!" commanded Jack, putting a finger to his lips. Needless to say, that didn't work.

"FEEL PROUD, DO YE? PROUD OF WHAT YOU DID TO MY BROTHER, YOU BLOODY BASTARD?"

Jack immediately fell silent. He had forgotten about Jonathan, Dolan's younger brother. He had spoken to Jonathan perhaps twice on the voyage from the island, but never became close with him as he had become close to Dolan. Jonathan had been quiet, reserved…Jack had the distinct impression that he was highly intelligent, but never let on to it. 

Jack looked to Norrington, who had completely lowered his sword. He stood, gaping slightly at Dolan, understanding encompassing his tired face. He was standing slightly hunched as if defeated, the loathsome look all but vanished from his expression. It was replaced by a more defined emotion…Jack thought, for a moment, it was guilt.

There was a deafening silence following Dolan's words, and Jack saw Will look at him questioningly. Shaking his head slightly, Jack walked forward in between the two men and said, softly, "I think it best we get our sleep, lads. We'll be to the coin any time soon."

Jack looked at Norrington who still stood staring at Dolan. Walking over to the commodore, he said, "Come here…commodore, let's go," he added, taking him by the arm and leading him out of the mess hall. He escorted him to his room and followed him in, shutting the door behind him. Norrington simply sat down on his bed, placed his face in his hands and muttered softly, "I'd like to be alone."

Nodding respectfully, Jack turned and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. His curiosity still not quenched, he went back to the mess hall where he found Will and Johnson picking up the broken pieces of glassware off of the floor. Ingrid stood  behind Dolan whispering in his ear, and the rest of the crew stood in small groups around the room, talking in hushed voices.

Jack walked directly over to Dolan, pulled up a chair to face him directly, and said, without preamble, "What in bloody hell was that about, Dolan?"

"Don't feel like talking about it, reckon," he mumbled, taking a swig from a cup.

"You owe Jack an explanation," protested Will from across the room. "You were about to kill Norrington!"

"And what if I was," Dolan shot back, standing up. "Mind yer own business, Turner."

"This IS my business," Will countered, his jaw clenching and his body stiffening. "My expecting wife is out there in the hands of a lunatic pirate, and Norrington is a skilled fighter and an expert soldier. I'm not about to let you endanger her life further because of your stupid grudges."

"Oh, so you call hating the one who murdered your brother a stupid grudge, do ye?" Dolan asked. Jack could tell he was struggling to keep his anger in check. "Is it stupid that ye hate Barbossa for killin' yer father?"

"YOU LEAVE MY FATHER OUT OF THIS!" Will yelled, walking towards Dolan who, in turn, began to approach Will.

"OH BLEEDIN' CHRIST!" Jack screamed, grabbing a hold of Dolan's shirt and throwing him down upon the chair. He then reached for Will's shirt, grabbed, it and threw him against the wall of the cabin. He then stood in between the two men and said, "The crew and I would greatly appreciate it if ye didn't act like such bloody children." Both men still looked possessed, so Jack said, "If ye two want to kill each other, that's your own business. But, quite frankly, I'm going to need you two to help rescue Elizabeth." He saw Will's face slacken slightly. "So unless you don't want your wife back, Will, and unless you want me to throw you overboard, Dolan, I suggest you both act your ages and start behavin' like grown pirates." 

Dolan and Will said nothing, and Jack graciously accepted the silence. Then, he spoke. "Dolan…what happened to Jonathan?" he asked quietly.

He saw the rum runner wince at the mention of the name, thrown out of his raging trance. He suddenly looked nostalgic, his eyes mournful. He set looked blankly down at the floor and began, "It was Norrington who caught us in our last rum run of the season." Jack nodded, and Dolan continued. "I was on the Victoria Anne, and Jonathan was on the Rachel Faith. He had all of the shipments of rum, and I was the decoy. We knew Norrington would be patrolling these waters. Heard it from other runners, reckon." He paused for a long while, staring out into space. His eyes twitched every now and then as if he were reliving the moment, watching it unfold in front of him. His breathing was shallow and nondescript. Then, he continued. "Norrington caught the Rachel Faith. He boarded it and rounded up the crew. The punishment for illegal rum trading was death by hanging…of course, my brother knew that. And he wasn't about to be hanged in front of a crowd, disgraced and stripped of all dignity, reckon.

"So he did the noble thing. He attacked Norrington's men. Fought to the death, he did…fought until he had no more men left, until it was just him. He knew it was over…he attacked Norrington…but Norrington didn't want to do the noble job. He subdued Johnny…knocked him out cold. Took him back to Port Royal and…and hung 'im in front of a jeering crowd. He mocked my brother's death, that bastard…he disgraced my brother's memory."

A strange ringing sounded in Jack's ears, until he said, "How do you know all of this?"

Dolan nodded to a heavy sailor in the corner. "Barley over there…the only one to survive. Found him floatin' on his back in the ocean some two days later…he told us all about it, reckon." Jack looked up to Barley who stood staring back at him, a strange expression on his face. "So that's why I want him dead," Dolan said, looking up at Will. "And that's why you've got no business telling me not to."

Jack looked over to Will, who was hanging his head in what appeared to be guilt and sadness. Will knew what it was like to lose someone close, and Jack knew the boy felt Dolan's pain. Without another word, young Turner turned and walked out of the mess hall, throwing down the broken plate he was holding in anger and mixed emotion. It smashed on the floor, the sharp debris spreading across the floor.

Jack looked up at Dolan again, who still sat there, staring into space. He looked up at Ingrid whose eyes were red and bloodshot, silent tears streaming down her face. It took a lot to make that lady cry…but losing a nephew was, undoubtedly, tough on the poor mum.

Signing, Jack stood up, putting a hand on Dolan's shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly. "Aye…we've got no business telling you not to kill Norrington," commented Jack, nodding. "But lad…he's changed. He let me free…almost got hung by my onesie in Port Royal. But he's had a change of heart, mate."

Dolan shook his head, merely muttering, "I want his head on a plate, reckon."

Surveying the surrounding debris of broken plates and glasses, Jack commented, "You've got no plates left."

Dolan looked up into Jack's eyes, and Jack could see a new sparkle of life where there was none previous to his joke. "You're the most disrespectin' pirate I know of," he resonded gruffly.

"Aye," said Jack. "But I know what it's like losin' a brother too."

"You had a brother?" Dolan asked.

"Aye…by the name of William Turner." He saw Dolan nod in comprehension, and Jack added, "You know what I'm about, then. Barbossa killed my brother…why don't you help me kill Barbossa?"

The rum runner looked, for a moment, as if he were about to decline in Jack's request. But instead, he stood up and nodded vaguely. "Good," Jack grinned. "What do you say we find the token, rescue the lass, and save millions of souls from being damned…savvy?"

"On one condition."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "What might that be?"

Dolan grinned ever so slightly and sat back down on his chair, taking a big swig of rum. "First, you tell us about that infamous night with Scarlet."

~*~

_That was long, just because I love you._

_Action, adventure, and bloodshed in next chapter, reckon? J_


	21. The First Mate

**Disclaimer: **I own only the plot. Disney owns the rest. Lucky bastards…

**A/N: **THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I was recently reminded that I reached over 400 reviews…and somehow, I completely missed it. ******Smacks self** I'm a tad slow, then, it seems…but thank you all for your support! And remember about the bloodshed I promised you? Here it is...in modified form. The REAL bloodshed will come soon enough. 

**A/N2: **Because ff.net is being such a pleasant wench tonight, it won't let me italicize what I need to be in italics. Thus, little asterisks such as * this, will indicate flashback. Sorry about that. These are the times when I hate ff.net.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change The First Mate 

* * He could see her eyes water…he could still feel her hand resting lightly upon his chest…he could hear her ragged gasps for air, the sound of death clutching its tight hands around her throat. It was the worst sound he had ever heard.

"Jack…" she had tried to sputter as blood dripped from her mouth to cascade down her neck rest on her white blouse. "Jack…"

He remembered trying to soothe her through a clenched throat. He could still recall his absolute resignation, the indisputable urge to shake her and yell at her, tell her she was stronger than this, urge her to live, to breathe…she couldn't leave him…not now…not ever.

"Hush, lass," he urged her. "Don't waste yer breath…"

"Jack…" she croaked again, clutching his bare chest where his shirt had been ripped. An explosion of cannon fire ricocheted over his head, and he ducked, instinctively covering her vulnerable body with his own. He could hear her shallow breathing as he rest his head on her chest, waiting for all of the debris to fall, protecting her from the blast…

"Lass," he gulped as he sat up, clutching her limp body to him.

Her breathing was rhythmic yet slowing…

"Don't give up, aye?"

It was slowly fading…

"Don't…"

It was gone.

Jack didn't know what to do with himself. He sat there, clutching Anamaria's lifeless body to his chest, panic-stricken and immobilized by despair. He could vaguely hear the shouts around him, only semi-aware of the water that was flooding the deck. He felt hands pull him up by the scruff of his collar, felt rough hands propel him away from her. He screamed and flailed about wildly, his eyes shining with anger, mistrust, denial. 

But he didn't cry.

Perhaps he should have. He loved her…she was his most trusted companion, his best friend. At times, he felt she was even more than that. She was frugal, witty, bright and yet not overly educated to the point where she could take "no" for an answer, however logical it might be. She hadn't been gone for more than thirty seconds, and, as he felt his heart rip into pieces, he realized he already missed her.* *

"Jack."

If only he could take back the advice Gibbs had given him…

"Jack…"

If only he had been prudent. He knew the Navy wouldn't take prisoners…

"Jack!"

"What?" he mumbled sleepily. He kept his eyes shut, trying to drown out the light that was now trying to infiltrate his heavy eyelids. In all actuality, he kept them shut because it still enabled him to see her face…

"Jack, get up!" Now, hands were shaking his shoulders and he opened his eyes to look directly into the face of Will Turner.

"What do you want?" he asked grumpily. He was in no mood to carry on a lovely conversation at the moment.

"It's…it's…Jack, it's the Pearl."

There were a few moments of silence in which all that could be heard was the creaking of the ship upon the gentle waves. Then, somewhat of a forced chuckle was heard erupting from Jack's throat. "You haven't been drinking that rum of Dolan's, have ye? That's some strong stuff, even for me, and-"

"Jack, it's Barbossa."

A dry, croak-like cough emerged from Jack's mouth as he struggled to sit up straight, his hair hanging loosely about his face, his shirt off and his eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Barbossa…he's gaining on us," Will repeated urgently. "Jack…Dolan wants you out there now." As Jack still was dumbfounded that Barbossa had gotten the Pearl (considering it had been sunk to the bottom of the ocean by the Royal Navy), Will grabbed his arm and heaved him to a stand. "Come on."

Jack grabbed his shirt as Will dragged him out of his cabin. They emerged on deck to find Barley at the wheel as the rest of the crew frantically masted sail and secured the rigging.

"They're coming up right fast, reckon," came Dolan's voice from behind. Jack moved towards the side of the ship and, sure enough, he saw the Pearl's black sails flapping merrily in the wind. "She's gainin' on us, Sparrow," Dolan mumbled. "She's a fast wench."

"Aye…fastest ever made," Jack muttered, still eyeing the Pearl. He turned to Dolan. "When did she show up?"

Dolan shook his head. "No idea. Luckily, Ingrid was on watch…ol' mum spotted them outta a rightly thick fog…lucky she were paying attention, reckon."

Jack cursed under his breath. There was no outrunning them. As he looked from Dolan's face to the Pearl again, he let out an exclamation as he saw the two ships were now merely one hundred meters from each other, and closing fast. He tore his eyes away from his ship and said, "Look…get yer men down from there." Gesturing with a heavily ringed hand, Jack motioned to the rest of the crew who was dangling from the main mast's rigging, apparently trying to force it to catch non-existent wind. "Next, get all your swords, daggers, what have you. We're going to be boarded."

"You're daft," screamed Johnson who was quickly climbing down the mast. "Ye can't expect us to wait around and be boarded, can ye? Mad!" 

Jack shook his head and said sadly, "Unfortunately, mate, we got no choice. We can't outrun the Pearl…there's no way."

"Then we stand and fight."

Turning, Jack saw Norrington emerge from the mess hall, looking on the upswing from when he last confronted Dolan. 

"Oh, so now ye want to fight, eh? Hoping to condemn more honorable men to the gallows?" shot Dolan, eyeing Norrington disgustedly.

"There are no honorable men aboard that ship," Will said.

"They're catching up, no doubt. Our best bet is to lower the mast, secure the rigging, and to - "

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" exclaimed Dolan, whirling to face Norrington. "Who, might I ask, is the captain of this here ship? I am. That means I give the orders. I decide what's best, are we at an understanding? I don't care what you think and I don't care what you do unless it affects me or my crew. So kindly shut that flapper of yourn and we'll be on our way."

Norrington's face remained expressionless, but Jack noticed the commodore's right hand was moving subtly towards his sword.

"Dolan, Norrington's right," Jack insisted carefully. He knew he was treading on eggshells with a statement like that. "We can't outrun 'em…oh, brilliant, look, bleedin' Christ, they're here," he added in dismay as he looked over his right shoulder. A rigging's full of grinning faces and hungry stares met them. It had happened so quietly that Will, Norrington, and Dolan all screamed out in surprise.

"MEN! Get yerselves down here, on the double!" Dolan shouted as his crew came raining down upon the main deck. Jack saw them draw their swords and he quietly cursed. Barbossa was going to win this fight, hands-down.

"Oi! Ye ain't fightin' without me, ye lousy flea-bitten sailors," Ingrid yelled from the captain's quarters. She stormed out with a sword in her hand, a dagger in her belt, and a knife in her shoe. The mere sight of her made Jack smile.

"Aye, mum, we're nothin' without ye," smiled Dolan. 

"Alright you bloody bastards, make a move," Jack heard Will mutter under his breath.

"Will." The boy turned to look at him. "Just…just don't go pirating on me, savvy? It's  technically illegal, and yer a father, aye? So mind the language. Kids pick up everything, you know," he added turning from Will. 

"You sound like Elizabeth."

Jack's eyes grew wide. "DON'T compare me to her," he grumbled, tugging his own shirt over his head and drawing his sword. "I DRINK my rum, not BURN it…"

Shouts and screams accompanied by invading pirates from the Pearl followed Jack's comment. One scrawny pirate made a Beeline for him, and Jack ducked, parried, thrusted. Withdrawing his sword from the pirate's innards, Jack cussed aloud as he realized they were all in huge trouble…

"They won't die!" he heard Dolan shout over the fray of the onslaught of the invasion. "They won't – bleedin' – die!" 

"I TOLD YOU!" Jack roared, upset with himself for his lack of his own memory. "I TOLD YOU THAT THEY COULDN'T DIE! YOU CAN'T DIE WHEN YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD, SAVVY?" he thrust again at the insanely scrawny pirate. The apparently dimwitted opponent giggled ridiculously as he rubbed his eye with a closed fist, grasping his sword with the other hand. It made a sickening squeaking sound.

"I can't die," the man giggled, insanely grinning. "I'm undead, see." He pointed to his abdomen.

Jack rolled his eyes, dropped his sword, and punched the man squarely on the jaw. To his utter surprise, the man's eye popped out of its socket. "Me eye! Me eye!" he screamed as he dropped on all fours, following the slippery eye across the deck. "It's me eye!"

Frowning slightly and pausing in memoriam for the bloke's fake eye, Jack dodged a first-class punch to the cheekbone. He whirled around and punched the offender in the stomach, picked up his sword, and whirled around to see Will fending off a burly pirate of his own.

"I can take care of myself!" Will protested as Jack took over his fight for him.

"Yes, yes, we all know that, you're absolutely manly and a real joy to work with," Jack muttered as he blocked an advancement. "BUT, you have delicate cargo to retrieve on the Pearl…if you get my drift," he added, ducking an attempt by the other to take off his head at the neck. He glanced at Will who nodded in comprehension and dashed off to the other ship. 

As he parried again, a drawling voice called out, "Leave 'em, Drawburn…he's mine." The pirate he had been fighting backed down and moved aside to reveal Barbossa, sword drawn, grinning.

"Aye, you missed me," he smirked at Jack. 

"Got a new hat, I see," he commented, pointing to the pirate's plumed hat. Barbossa's smile faded. "Much nicer than the other one, I must admit. The other was a tad…out of style." A heavy pause filled the air until he asked, "What are you doing with my ship?"

"YOUR ship, Jack? Oh no, matey, the ship is mine. Always was, always will be…savvy?" he mocked, raising his sword. "I s'pose ye would like to battle me, then?"

Jack grasped his sword tighter. "Aye, I s'pose I would."

"We're behind ye, Jack," Dolan muttered. He could see the rest of the crew had stopped fighting and were solely concentrating on the fight between he and Barbossa. The crew of the Victoria Anne were gathered behind Jack; likewise, the crew of the Pearl was crowded behind Barbossa.

"No, Dolan, this isn't your battle," Jack grumbled. Then, without preamble, he thrust. Barbossa parried, bringing his sword around full circle, trying to slice Jack's arm off. Anticipating this, Jack withdrew his sword and swiped across the area where Barbossa's head had been moments before. Barbossa blocked, parried, and then thrust.

An odd sensation overcame Jack's middle…it was a sensation he had before. He looked down and saw Barbossa's sword sticking out of his left side. He narrowed his eyes and remained motionless. How odd…

"YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" he heard Dolan cry. Jack saw the rum runner move to strike against Barbossa, but Jack was too fast for him.

"Don't!" he growled, pushing Dolan back by the shoulders.

"Ja…Jack…you're…you're…"

He saw the man eyeing the sword sticking out of his midriff, his mouth agape with disgust. "OH bloody hell, does NO ONE ever listen to me?" he raged. He held up a finger to signal for Dolan to wait, grasped the sword with both hands, and wrenched the item out of his stomach. "I. CAN'T. DIE. SAVVY?" he asked, displaying Barbossa's weapon high in the air. "This didn't hurt." Jack turned to face Barbossa. "Too bad, mate…now you have no weapon," he grinned.

"What will no weapon cost me when I can't die?" Barbossa smirked back. "But I do have…what did you call it? Leverage?" He pointed to the Pearl's deck where he saw Will being restrained by two members of the other crew. "So unless ye want young Mr. Turner here to suffer, I suggest ye come with me."

Jack eyed Will who was desperately struggling within the grasps of the two men. Jack's heart thudded heavily in his chest…he didn't know if Will could resist the call of the Curse and avoid the temptation to give in to Barbossa and the gods.

Jack clenched his teeth. "Fine," he murmured. He threw down his sword. Sure enough, Ingrid had a say about this. 

"Ye can't give up! What do ye think yer doin'? This ain't like you, Sparrow…let's fight! We can take 'em!" she cried, marching forward only to be held back by Dolan. Barbossa and crew laughed.

"Take 'em all, laddies," he growled, signaling to Dolan's posse. "Just take 'em all."

Spitting, yelling, and vulgarities were heard on the Victoria Anne as the crew was dragged from the ship to the Pearl. He barely caught glimpses of the others being dragged down to the brig as he was tied to the main mast's base with rough rope.

Barbossa stared at him hungrily, and Jack narrowed his eyes in contempt. "So, Jack, how does it feel to be back on the Pearl?"

"It's my ship," he growled.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Perhaps it was the fact that you are bound and a captive on your own ship that blinded me to the fact that you owned 'er. We got 'er back, courtesy of the Aztec gods. They felt us acquiring the fastest ship in these here waters was a sure way to fulfill their plans."

"Let him go."

"Pardon?" Barbossa's sneer faded slightly.

"Just let him go. And Elizabeth. Keep me…its me you want."

Barbossa laughed. "No, mate, you got it wrong. It's Turner I want…you just happen to be a bonus." The crew chuckled collectively.

Lowering his eyes to the floor, Jack racked his mind for a way out of this mess.

Ain't no way out, Sparrow. The mess is here to stay.

Cringing, Jack had forgotten about the Curse. Now that he was in Barbossa's hands, the Curse would easily take him over.

Aye, you're catching on, you are. Always were intelligent.

Wincing as if he had been slapped, Jack tried desperately to drown out the raspy voice within his head.

I thought I told ye…I'm here for good. Better get used to me, Sparrow.

"The Curse talking to ye yet?" Barbossa asked. "Is it gettin' to ye?"

"No." It was a lie. Already he felt his mind succumb to doubts, to anger…

"You miss her, do ye?"

Barbossa's question shut out the voice entirely. "What?"

"That lass on that ship of yourn. What did Gibbs call her…? Anamaria?" he sneered. "She's dead, ain't she?"

Jack bit his tongue to keep himself from reaching out and killing the man in front of him. He didn't answer.

"Died in yer arms, Gibbs told me."

Gibbs? he thought. And it dawned on him. Gibbs was the informant. Gibbs was undead too…he couldn't resist the Curse's calling. He used his flask to drink Sangria, the concoction of the Aztecs Jack had given Elizabeth…Sangria, for a man, hid the curse. It was suddenly so stupendously obvious that Jack almost laughed.

"So…was she as stupidly loyal as you, Jack? Or just stupid in general."

Now Jack was biting his tongue so hard he tasted blood as the warm, tangy liquid filled his mouth. Barbossa smiled stupidly. "Don't matter, really. She's dead and gone…just like the rest of that crew of yourn." The captain turned from Jack and rallied his men together. "Off to Isle de la Viento, and make haste. Time to break the curse, gain our immortality, and wreak havoc for those vengeful gods."

"Isle de la Viento?" Jack blurted out, narrowing his eyes. 

"Aye, mate, you were there. Remember the fork in the path?" he asked, his eyes glinting maliciously. "You chose the left path…If a fellow pirate take ye gold, cut off his right hand, leavin' him only his left to fight with…ring a bell?" Barbossa took a moment to smirk at Jack, then continued, "Well, you took the left path…unfortunately, you forgot you were dealin' with me. You see Jack, I'd cut off both of his hands. But since that don't ring well with the code, I had to adjust. I knew you would pick the right path…so I chose the left. That's where the gold is." He grinned malevolently. "Feel dippy, eh, Jack?"

"Gibbs was your informant," he muttered, lowering his eyes to the ground, trying to take it all in.

"Aye, but a rather lousy one, I should mention. He was under the impression that you died…seems he had a change of loyalty, but stupidly decided that he was, overall, in your debt," he added in a slightly bitter voice. "All of to no consequence, of course. We have all we need." He gestured to the left.

Jack turned to see Will walking towards them. Alarmingly, he was not being restrained. He wore a curious smirk upon his face, and Jack's stomach plummeted as he saw an evil glistening in his eyes. He was armed with his own sword hanging by his side. He came to a halt to stand next to Barbossa. Jack couldn't take his eyes off of Will's face; his handsome features were contorted in a sneer-like fashion, his eyes flashing with what appeared to be anger with a slight twinge of madness. His breathing was normal but his stature was rigid, unnatural. What was left of Jack's hope crumbled and landed at a heap at his feet.

"Jack Sparrow, meet my first mate, William Turner."

~*~

See you next update.


	22. Unexpected Guests

**Disclaimer: **See previous disclaimers. I don't wanna talk about it.

**My Apology: **SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!!!!! I'm SO sorry for making you wait. Those pesky college applications are finally out (well, Part I of them anyways), so now I have time to write…thankfully. BUT FIRST AND FOREMOST I want to address GrayWolfEyes's amazing and intelligent observation. She noticed Jack being a little OOC…it's because I meant to make him OOC. In regards to Jack saying in the previous chapter, roughly, "Take me. Leave them [Will and Elizabeth] and take me." I know that was extremely un-Sparrowish. This I felt was appropriate for two reasons: one, because he's aware that his nonchalant attitude towards Will and Elizabeth was worn out during his last encounter with Barbossa; i.e., Barbossa is aware that Jack cares for both of them so pretending that he was indifferent would be a lost cause. But second and most importantly, he is under the influence of the curse, remember? Because he is in Barbossa's hands, the curse has a stronger influence over him.   
  
  


I realize these reasons may not be convincing, but I felt it was necessary to clarify. Thanks to everyone who  reviewed…and if you have qualms about my story like GrayWolfEyes did, feel free to include it in your review! I won't bite…hard. **smirk**

And now, the procrastinator (me) presents the next chapter.

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change 

Unexpected Guests 

________

It was only after Elizabeth had thrown her arms around Jack's neck, sobbing with frustration and fear over losing her husband to the curse that Dolan realized they were in a more dire situation than he had previously thought. He stood in the rear of the cell in which he, Jack, Will's wife, and another man by the name of Gibbs resided. His arms were folded across his chest in defense of the chilled temperatures of the brig. His brow was furrowed in sympathy for the grieving woman. She had fallen into resolute silence after Jack had informed her of Will's decision (due to the strong influence of the curse) to join Barbossa's ranks. Then, barely an hour later, she clung to the pirate in desperation. It was apparent she had been holding in her overflowing feelings for too long.

At first, Jack had looked slightly alarmed at the upset woman who had flung herself at him. But now he seemed to be handling it incredibly well (for Jack Sparrow), and held on to her, patting her on the head a tad awkwardly as if she were an unpredictable dog. She finally let go of him and wiped her eyes furiously, her face in a determined scowl. 

"He's more trouble than he's worth," she grumbled half-heartedly.

"Aye. That's why you love him," commented Jack, looking relieved that his duty of comforting her had finally come to an end. She gave an unlady-like snort, but didn't deny it. 

In the silence that followed, Dolan weighed their chances of escape and was disconcerted, however unsurprised, to draw the conclusion that the odds were against them. His crew was locked in a cell adjacent to theirs, and all of them had been bruised and pushed around. On top of that, they were exhausted, hungry, cold, wet, and in bad spirits. None of these, Dolan realized with a frown, would encourage them to put up a fight.

"Codswallop," grumbled Gibbs, shaking his head. "We're done for. Turner's on Barbossa's side…the curse is talkin' to ye, Jack. It's only a matter of time before you goes turncoatin' on us as well."

"I must admit, Gibbs, I always admired your optimism," grumbled Jack in reply. He seemed to be somewhat distracted but attentive nonetheless. 

"I ain't all doom and gloom, I is just realistic. It's a page you should take out of my book."

In response, Jack grunted and turned away from them all.

Dolan studied the back of the pirate captain for a few moments before turning his eyes onto the other cell in the brig. All of his crew were sitting down, some catching a last-minute snooze, some lazily yawning and others staring out into the distance with dreamy looks upon their faces. Exhaustion weighed down upon them, and Dolan was no stranger to the pinch of tiredness. The only man that stood with a calm, if not somewhat defiant expression was Norrington. Dolan's eyes lingered upon the commodore slightly until the other man shifted his eyes to meet his gaze. Dolan looked away quickly.

Elizabeth sighed from a corner of the cell, and Dolan immediately felt another twinge of sympathy. The lass had been through much, no doubt. And although Dolan was not completely taken with young Turner, he could still understand the loss of a loved one. Namely, with his brother Jonathan…

But Jonathan had died, and Will wasn't dead…yet. So there was no comparison. The news that his brother had died struck him hard enough, but when he found out the humiliation he had gone through, that his last moments were spent in shame and embarrassment…that ripped Dolan's heart out. A blindly cold hatred had pulsed through his body in such a way that he felt nothing but the need for revenge. Only when he made Norrington feel the way his brother felt, only when he embarrassed the commodore and brought shame upon his face and name, only when he avenged his brother's death…only then would he be happy and fulfilled…

When the rusty key turned in the lock of his cell and hard, calloused hands ripped him from his cage, Dolan was brought back to the present. He was escorted roughly out of the brig and onto the deck, along with Elizabeth, Jack, and Gibbs. The dulled sunlight nearly blinded him as he winced, used to the dank darkness of the brig. When his eyes adjusted in the glare of the white beams of light, he noticed that they were approaching a small island. The winds whipped around him and Dolan squinted his blue eyes against the slight spray from the ocean. The ship now pitched and rolled with more fervor than before, and he found himself off balance due to the fact that his hands (like the rest of the captives') were tied behind his back with rough rope.

"Isle de la Viento," commented a rash voice belonging to Barbossa. "Must recognize 'er, Jack."

Jack said nothing.

A violent wave smashed against the side of the ship, sending Dolan flying against the deck. He smacked his head hard upon the base of the main mast and, for a few moments, lay disoriented and nauseous at its base. "Get up ye lousy bottom-feeder," grumbled a pirate, lifting him to his feet. Dolan shook his head slightly and regained some of his sure footing.

Hearing a small gasp that sounded as if someone was trying to avoid a sob, he turned to look at Elizabeth. She was staring, transfixed, across the deck, and Dolan followed her gaze, eventually resting his eyes upon Will Turner. It would be unfair to say the boy looked daft…he looked _possessed_. His eyes glinted strangely, as if they weren't in focus. He wore a strange smile of bemused satisfaction and stood at a strangely rigid angle, his hands behind his back. He followed Barbossa everywhere as if they were tied together by an invisible string.

"So, Jack, ever curious as to how I got the _Black Pearl_ back after the Navy sank her to the bottom?" asked Barbossa, a sadistic grin spreading over his wretched face. 

Once again Jack remained silent.

"Well, you've probably guessed, the heathen gods raised it for me. Fastest ship in the world, she is," he remarked, glancing up at the marvelous rigging. "Fast enough so we can spill Turner's blood over the coins, become immortal, and wreak havoc on all of those who used those damn coins for profit."

"Why do ye need Turner's blood, reckon?" Dolan heard himself asking, frowning at the pirate. 

Barbossa walked carefully towards him and looked him up and down before responding. "The curse is sore at Turner for keeping the last of the tokens away on our last little adventure. Simple revenge, actually," he added grinning. And as Dolan was exhausted, had a pounding headache, and knew of the lust for revenge, he did not respond. Instead, he looked at Norrington for a few moments until the commodore returned his gaze. Dolan averted his eyes quickly.

The rum running business was risky and always was. His younger brother knew that and took the chances. But when Dolan found out how Jonathan had died, how his last moments of life were spend in shame and embarrassment, Dolan felt the cold lust of vengeance sweep his mind. He wouldn't rest until he did to Norrington what the commodore had done to his brother…

"Unload 'em."

Dolan felt himself being forcefully placed into a small rowboat, Elizabeth following behind him. They were accompanied by two of Barbossa's crew. He looked around and saw Jack and Gibbs placed in another boat behind them, while Will and Barbossa sat down in a boat flanking them on the right. The rest of the crew filled the remaining rowboats, and there they fought through the torrential winds and the high waves towards the island's shores.

Needing to say something, Dolan looked at Elizabeth who was shivering slightly due to the cold winds. He wished he had a coat to offer her…but he had left his in the brig. She glanced at him and he tried to smile. "Everything will turn out alright, lass," he yelled over the winds. "Sparrow's full of ideas, reckon."

Elizabeth inclined her head and replied, "That's what I'm afraid of." 

And Dolan had to admit that she had a point.

A few ten-foot waves and a near-capsize later, he found himself being hauled onto the island. He surveyed his surroundings and noted a few caves in the near distance, jutting out over the ocean menacingly. He winced and lowered his head to avoid the bits of sand that sprayed his face due to the strong and gusty winds. He looked around at the rest of the crew who had already landed their rowboats and were climbing unsteadily out of them. He saw Jack trip over the side of his boat and heard mumble, "I HATE sailing…"

The closer they approached the caves, the more Dolan's stomach felt as though it contained a very large, sharp rock. An overbearing sense of foreboding made him shiver as he and the rest of the crew traipsed over the sand dunes. Mound after mound they conquered, and after barely twenty minutes of climbing Dolan felt as if his legs were made of jelly. He panted slightly and felt a rawness in his throat; the fact that his hands were tied behind his back did nothing to help his balance as he constantly tripped and swayed over the soft and amoebic sand. 

Finally, when he felt he couldn't move another inch, he heard Barbossa growl, "Here we are, lads."

Dolan looked up and found himself standing at the base of the caves. The wind picked up and whistled in his ears as he was forced to go in first. He looked reprovingly at the pirate who pushed him, a scrawny, clownish man whose eye appeared to be fake. The pirate giggled insanely and pointed into the caves, "Haunted, they are."

"Shut up you slimy piece of worm-ridden filth," grumbled a shorter pirate next to him.

"They is haunted," protested the other.

"You're stupider than a piece of wood," grumbled the stout man.

"More stupid, genius. 'Stupider' is not a word." Dolan turned to Elizabeth who had spoken, and she wore a slightly malicious grin on her face as she looked back at Dolan. The shorter pirate turned red and shoved Dolan forward. "Into the cave, ye yellow-bellied rum runner."

Dolan headed forward, crouching low. The space they were heading into was barely four-feet tall, and with his hands tied, he often found himself on the floor of the cave, crawling his way through. A couple of times he even fancied himself stuck, but thanks to his fairly well-built figure he was able to squeeze through the small spaces, shimmying his way through crevices and tight spots. He used his muscles that were built up from manning the rigging to drag himself through a spot that was barely two feet tall, emerging from it covered in dust and mud. He wiped his eyes on his shoulder and glanced around. They had reached a fork in the trail.

"Well," growled Barbossa, folding his hands across his chest. "This is where ye messed up, Jack. Ye went left on this trail…wrong choice. 'Tis right…let's go lads." 

Before Dolan was prodded in the back again, he turned around and glanced at Jack. The pirate looked up and met his gaze, and Dolan was thoroughly alarmed to see a different look in his eyes; a familiar glistening that he had seen in young Turner. Dolan swore under his breath as he realized Gibbs was right: it was just a matter of time before the curse overpowered Sparrow. If they lost him, they might as well give up all hope.

This path was windy and curvy, but had a ceiling of about seven feet. To Dolan's appeasement, this did not require crawling, but the strong winds did sent various bits of debris flying at them every once in a while. The scrawny pirate got smacked in the face with a coconut shell carried by the wind, and Dolan heard a sickening sucking sound as the man screamed, "Me eye! Me eye!" Dolan saw the pirate crawl past him as the small round object (apparently his eye) came rolling past his feet. Dolan aimed carefully and kicked the eye farther down the path, grinning as he saw the one-eyed man give a groan of annoyance as he crawled hastily after it.

Abruptly, the path stopped and gave way to a large ditch. The ditch was filled with rocks and a small stream, and it stood perhaps twenty feet below them. Upon feeling another prod, Dolan gave a grunt of worry. He had never liked heights, and he was in no mood to hike his way down the steep incline into the quarry-like space beneath him. But Turner didn't seem patient; with one swift swoop he smacked Dolan upside the head, causing him to lose his balance and roll down the rocky terrain. He bounced like a rag doll upon the sharp rocks, letting out a cry of pain as his head smacked against a rather sharp one, splitting open his skin over the right eye. He suddenly grew limp with pain as he hit more and more painful jolts, until he landed a few seconds later at the bottom, his face scratched and bleeding, his muscles screaming and his head throbbing. He heard the pirates laughing at Turner, slapping him on the back in congratulations. 

"Dolan!" It was Elizabeth's voice. He meant to lift up his head to acknowledge her worried cry, but all he could do was lay there, to pray for relief from the pain. He tried to open his mouth to say something, but a swift burning sensation followed by a flow of blood entered his mouth. It was obvious his jaw was broken. 

He felt Elizabeth kneel down next to him some minutes later, asking him if he was ok, trying to gently shake him awake. But reality was fading in and out of focus as the world spun around him. He felt the urge to heave with nausea as his right arm convulsed with pain. A weak groan emitted from his lips as bright spots appeared before his eyes. He kept his eyes shut and inhaled a shaky breath before plunging into the cold darkness that finally submerged him.

~*~

"You BASTARD!" she screamed, flinging herself at Will. She was shaking with anger and shedding tears of dismay. She landed upon him and punched him fruitlessly, screaming incoherently and kicking wildly as the other pirates wrenched her off of him, laughing hysterically. "You – you –" she managed to stutter, staring at her husband with disbelief. She knew the curse had taken him, but the fact that he had just killed Dolan in cold blood was more than she could comprehend.

"Now, now, lass, mind the language," Barbossa said, grinning toothily. "Mr. Turner is but doing his duty."

She let out a growl of anger and disgust as the pirates tied her hands behind her back. She looked frantically towards Gibbs and Jack, who were standing next to each other. Gibbs's face looked alarmed and somewhat pained, but Jack's face remained emotionless. It seemed as though someone had stripped him of all feeling, leaving only a strange gleaming in his eyes. A sickening feeling engulfed her gut as she prayed that the curse hadn't taken him.

"Now, Jack. Gibbs has informed me that you have the last coin…we would greatly appreciate it if you would give it to us."

A long pause permeated the air until Jack mumbled, almost incoherently, "…don't have it."

Barbossa stared hard at the man and said again, "Give it here."

"Already told you…don't have it." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in surprise as a small smile drew across his face, his eyes now glistening differently. Instead of shining madly, they shone triumphantly. 

Barbossa suddenly raised a hand and punched Jack in the face. No blood was drawn, as he was undead, but there was a sickening cracking sound. Jack staggered but regained his composure, staring hard at Barbossa. Then, he smiled. "Sorry to disappoint ye. And you know I'm not lying," he added. "Looks like your fluffy hat isn't such good luck after all."

Barbossa seethed with anger, and Elizabeth saw his eyes trail over the ground towards her. Before she could turn from him he seized her, drew his sword, and put it unnervingly close to her throat. She tried her best to stifle a whimper as he said, "You better find that coin good and fast, Jack, or you can say goodbye to the girl."

A flicker of fear swept over Jack's face, but it was soon replaced by a nonchalant, almost amused grin. "So, think that by killing the lass you're going to get that coin back, do you? Come, come, mate, I always thought you smarter than that."

Elizabeth gasped as she felt the blade press harder against her throat, and closed her eyes tightly as she felt a small trickle of blood flow from her neck down her chest as Barbossa pressed it harder against her. "I know your games, Sparrow. And as of right now, I'm not amused. So it's best that you find that coin real fast." The sincerity in his voice almost sent Elizabeth into hysterics.

"What are you thinking?" she heard Gibbs mumble to Jack. 

"I'm thinking I should've listened to my mother and gone into the Postal Service," he muttered. 

"JACK SPARROW THIS IS NO TIME FOR JESTING!" she shrieked against her own will, snapping her eyes open to glare at him. 

"Then what do you suggest?" Jack asked hotly. "I don't have the bloody coin!"

"You don't, but I do."

A female voice echoed throughout the chamber as all of them looked around, alarmed. Elizabeth squinted in concentration as she looked around the dark cavern, lit only by a rather large hole in the ceiling where sunlight spilled in. She could see no one in the shadows that surrounded them, but the voice had sounded so familiar…the cockney accent entwined with the rough hewn voice of a sailor…she had heard that voice before…but where…? 

"Show yerself!" commanded Barbossa from behind her. His grip tightened around her neck and the blade pressed itself into her skin, causing more blood to be drawn. She looked around the cabin and her eyes landed upon Jack, whose sardonic expression was replaced by one she hadn't seen on him in a while. Could it be hope?

From the upper terrace of the chamber emerged two figures. They were still immersed in shadow, so their faces were still in darkness. However, Elizabeth could tell that one was a man and the other a woman. They stood side by side, as if waiting for Barbossa to make another comment.

"Lordy Christ," she heard Gibbs mutter as he gazed upon them. "It can't be…it just can't…"

"SHOW YERSELF NOW!" Barbossa shouted. Elizabeth watched wide-eyed as one of the two figures emerged from the darkness. She gasped.

The woman was none other than Anamaria. 

She was holding out the golden token in her hand, which was glistening eerily in the limited light. She wore a grim smile upon her face as she looked down at all of them. "I take it ye were looking for this?" she asked.

A heavy silence hung suspended in the air, until Barbossa yelled, slightly alarmed, "Who's the other one with ye?"

The figure still in the shadows did not move.

Anamaria looked behind her and beckoned her companion out. There was a moment where everyone seemed to be holding their breaths in apprehension. The only sound that could be heard was the whistling of the wind and the waves breaking against the rocks. Then, very slowly and deliberately, the figure with the manly build stepped out from out of the shadows. Elizabeth's jaw dropped, and she heard panicked shuffling and raised exclamations of surprise from Barbossa's crew. 

The man appeared to be in his late thirties, early forties, although his boyish features and handsome face made him appear somewhat younger. He donned the same grim smile upon his tanned face as Anamaria, his hands folded over his chest to reveal a built but rather slight frame. His lips twitched under his goatee as he cocked his head slightly, his brown eyes traveling over all of them in interest.

Anamaria laughed lightly at the alarmed reaction of the crew. Elizabeth stood transfixed, staring at both of them as if in a trance. Elizabeth gestured to Barbossa, then to the man at her side. "I don't think introductions are necessary," she commented, now smiling broadly. "But let me do the courteous act anyways. Captain Barbossa, let me introduce you to your former crew member, William Turner." 

~*~

Please review.


	23. Crewman, Father, and Long Lost Friend

**Disclaimer: **See others.

***Correction to Chapter 22*: **Since ff.net will NOT let me re-upload Chapter 22 in the proper format, I'll correct it here. Thank you to my reviewers who realized that it should have been Anamaria, not Elizabeth, who gestured to William Turner at her side. Thanks guys for being so observant!!

**A/N: **So I warrant that a great deal of ye are confused. That's a good thing. I'm sadistic in the fashion that I like to seriously confuse my readers. So if you're confused, I'm doing my job. 

Sorry once again for the 42098432098432098 weeks you had to wait for me to update. Applying to colleges still sucks. Trust me.

Here you go, ladies and lads…chapter 23.

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change Crewman, Father, and Long-Lost Friend 

________

It was admittedly one of the few times in his fairly experienced life that Norrington was completely confused.

He stood frowning, the crew of the '_Victoria Anne_' standing behind him, all apparently as shell-shocked as he was. Well, perhaps shell-shocked was not the word – utterly dumbfounded was much more appropriate. 

_William Turner? But William Turner was…there._ Norrington shifted his gaze to look at the young Turner, his eyes slightly narrowing. The boy stood transfixed, an unsure and slightly befuddled expression over his handsome features. Well, now there were two options: one, that there just happened to be another William Turner, as neither name were exhaustingly unique. But the possibility that most stuck in his mind was option number two: this woman had consumed way too much rum. 

His logical mind easily accepting that answer, he straightened his back and put on a triumphant yet slightly inquisitive face. He looked from the man they called Barbossa to Jack, then to Elizabeth. But as soon as his gaze rested upon her his eyes shot quickly back to Jack's face. By the look of it, Norrington's logic had, for once, completely failed him.

Jack stood with his mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and piercing. Norrington noticed his right leg twitched somewhat nervously as he stood limply, as if in a trance, bothered by nothing but the man who was William Turner. His arms hung at his sides and he leaned slightly forward, as if trying to get a better glimpse at the man. Norrington turned toward Elizabeth, who looked as though she had just experienced something slightly short of a deistic revelation. Gibbs looked as if he had swallowed sour milk and had simultaneously been hit very hard in the face with a very heavy object. 

But it wasn't until his eyes reached Barbossa that he knew something was amiss. The pirate looked as if he had just seen a ghost; a very gory ghost, as his face had apparently been drained of all of the 'blood' left in it. His mouth was hanging lower than Jack's was, and Norrington was almost concerned that his jaw would unhinge itself if it dropped any lower. He still held on to Elizabeth, but his hand clutching the knife now rested considerably lower and much further away from her neck. The commodore concluded, by these reactions, that this man was much more than some common outlaw with a fairly common name. 

"Bootstrap…?"

It was Gibbs who had spoken. William Turner nodded as his grin grew wider. He brushed back his light brown hair winked once. 

That was all it took.

Norrington knew it now.

William Turner was Will Turner's father.

How could he have missed it? They looked exactly alike, almost to the point of being unnerving. Same color hair, same color eyes, same smile, same boyish face, same stance…

"…you're dead." Norrington turned to look at Jack who had spoken, whose face was now a completely blank slate. It was as if all emotion had been drained from it.

'Bootstrap' looked at Jack inquisitively. "I always thought you were smarter than that," he commented. Norrington wasn't sure if the man was joking or not.

The woman pirate cleared her throat, still holding out the coin in the palm of her hand, a twinkle of victory in her eyes. "I hear tell you were looking for this, Barbossa," she announced grandly. 

Barbossa said nothing. Instead, he clutched Elizabeth closer and seemed to regain his composure. He put the knife to her slightly bleeding throat and sneered. "What if I am?"

"Then I suggest you find a way to get it. Because without 'er," she held up the coin even higher, "you ain't comin' back to life, ye good for nothin' prat."

Barbossa let out a muffled cry of rage as he stared viciously at the woman. For a few moments, it was completely silent. Then: "GET THEM!"

In the chaos that ensued shortly after his words, Norrington felt himself being knocked to the ground by a very burly pirate. He contacted the ground hard but immediately shoved himself back on to his feet. His hands tied in front of him, the commodore had an advantage. His balance was still superb and he nimbly bypassed the whirl of yelling, shoving, and hastily moving pirates to the corner of the cave. 

_I need something sharp, _he thought to himself_. _As if the spirits had answered his calls, a dagger that flew by crept within an inch of his face and contacted the stone at his feet with a loud metallic clang. Norrington knelt down by the blade, picked it up, turned it towards himself, and began to slowly saw himself free of the restraining ropes. _This will take a decade, _he thought glumly as he sawed frantically, looking around. He was well-hidden behind several large boulders, but he could see the chaos that was taking place from hole in between two of them. He heard outraged cries, swords being drawn, pistols being shot. _But the bastards can't die, _he thought, rolling his eyes. _How I got myself mixed up with pirates in the first place…_

Finally, he was down to the last two restraining ropes. His wrists were now raw and bleeding, his fingers becoming numb with the monotonous motion of the sawing. He panted slightly and sawed even more enthusiastically, annoyed and agitated with the time-consuming task. It was only after a loud gunshot was shot and triumphant cheers were sounded that Norrington hastily looked up. At the sight, he nearly groaned.

The pirates had restrained all of them once more. Each was being held by a pirate on the upper arms, and Norrington noticed Bootstrap was being gagged by a piece of cloth. He edged closer to the peephole until his left eye was resting upon the stone itself. His breath sounded heavy and loud to his ears, but he was able to make out the voices of the other party.

"…wonder how ye are alive," Barbossa asked rather inquisitively, his hands folded on his chest. He was addressing Bootstrap who sporadically struggled against the gag and the restraining hands that held to him. 

"He ain't gonna be able to answer ye, Barbossa, with a piece of rag stuck in his mouth," shot the woman pirate. She spat at his shoes. "I woulda thought you ain't that idiotic."

Barbossa sneered and inched closer to the female pirate. He suddenly reached down her shirt, and Norrington saw Bootstrap and Jack struggle and give cries of outrage; strangely, the woman didn't move. Barbossa removed his hand from her shirt to reveal a shining, gold coin. Norrington was nauseated at the pleased and triumphant smile creeping its way across the pirate's face. "Ahhh…the touch of a woman. Always yields such priceless jewels," he commented as his crew snickered and gestured obscenely. He turned from the woman to Bootstrap, and held up the coin a few inches from his face. "You aren't dead…but ye will be soon enough," he commented so softly that Norrington could only hear him due to the cavernous echoing of his voice. "Well lads," he said in a much louder voice, "looks like we'll be killin' two men this here day." Racous cheers followed his words, but the voice of Bootstrap carried over it as he shouted, "TWO?"

Barbossa eyed Bootstrap for a few moments and responded, "Aye, two. You and that little boy of yourn."

The transformation in Bootstrap's face was amazing; it was even apparent to Norrington who was approximately one hundred feet away from the group. The older man's face slackened as his eyes traveled towards his son. They rested upon him a few moments, and in that short amount of time, the commodore could almost feel Bootstrap's feelings of regret and sadness permeate his lungs. The older man cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from his child. "Leave him out of this," he said raspily, inclining his head slightly.

Barbossa laughed. "Sorry, mate, I'd rather end your bloodline here. But I'll kill the boy first, just to make what's left of you suffer as much as I can before I end that pointless life of yourn." He walked over to the chest and opened it to reveal a shining pile of golden coins. He turned back and motioned for Bootstrap and Will to be brought forward. He removed a dagger with a golden blade and considerably jagged edges. 

"Don't ye have to use me blood?" the female pirate yelled, restrained by two burly men. Barbossa shook his head. "Different rules for different times, lass. The gods want Turner blood for keepin' the first missin' coin away for so long. And I intend on a-usin' both of them, just for assured safety," he added, smirking. 

_Damn it all, _he thought angrily, racking his memory for any plan he could think of. _NOW what? _He looked around frantically, but a slight movement caught his eye. The once-stagnant form of Dolan was now stirring slightly. A small token-pouch had opened slightly at Dolan's hip as his stirred, spraying small gold coins across some of the floor. The commodore noticed his chest was slightly rising, one of his hands moving from side to side upon the ground. Dolan was alive.

_Which is reassuring, to be sure, _he thought. _But how does that help our pretty situation? _Norrington studied Dolan for a few more moments before his heart lept to his throat. 

He had an idea.

~*~

_There is something fundamentally wrong with what I am doing._

A strange sensation overcame Will and he leaned over the chest full of gold. He narrowed his eyes and thought, _What the hell am I doing? _

_Barbossa's going to slit yer throat, mate, and all will be well, _came a raspy response.

_Pardon me, but there is nothing "well" about ANYONE slitting my throat, _he argued back. But at the same moment the other voice was so much stronger, so much more trust worthy, so calm and encouraging…

Just stay still for a few more seconds, Will, and all will be well… 

_But this is uncomfortable, _he thought thickly. 

Just a few more seconds… 

The glare of the gold in the chest was enticing, if not somewhat amusing to look at. Since he was bent over the gold, he studied the hundreds of coins before him. He memorized their markings, the insignias, the skull and crossbones…

Skull and crossbones…

Pirate…

Jack Sparrow…

Elizabeth…

Gold…

"NO!" he screamed.

In a torrent of memory, it all came rushing back to him. Barbossa, Elizabet, _The Black Pearl, _Jack, Gibbs…all of it erupted like an active volcano in his mind, spilling fruitful memories across his brain again. He remembered everything. 

Will abruptly stood up and whirled around. His hands were not tied, nor was he being restrained by anyone. In actuality, the small posse looked thoroughly surprised at his outburst, and all stood back from him. He took this moment to bound away from the chest towards Elizabeth.

"SEIZE HIM!"

Countless hands were upon him before he could reach his wife. He let out a disgruntled cry and struggled to the best of his ability. But the many strong hands of the crew outweighed his strength as they shoved him forward once more towards the chest of gold. Barbossa approached him, fury etched in every wrinkle of his old face. "Come here, Turner," he spat, shoving him towards the tokens. In an act of spontaneity, Will whirled around and punched Barbossa squarely in the jaw. The pirate staggered but regained himself, and before Will had a chance to duck, the pirate struck back. 

Warm blood rushed through his mouth and he spit out two back teeth, a roaring sound engulfing his ears. He staggered and fell to the ground, disoriented and in extreme pain. After rolling around useless for a few moments, he was able to haul himself up on to all fours, coughing feebly and spitting blood upon the sandy earth. He felt Barbossa kick him in the stomach and he rolled over onto his back, gasping for breath, grimacing in agony, the loud roaring sound blocking out all other noises. Will closed his eyes against the bright stars forming before his eyes as he lay there, useless, sputtering and wincing in pain. 

"You're missing one, did you know?"

An oddly familiar voice filled Will's ears, and the loud roar faded. Curiosity overrode his pain as he opened his left eye and glanced to his right. He saw Norrington, his arms free, holding up one of the gold tokens, smiling gallantly. "You'll be needing this, won't you?"

"Give it here, lad," Barbossa said calmly, as if he were trying to soothe a rabid dog. "I ain't going to hurt no one if ye just give it here."

Will, who suddenly felt a wave of nausea spill over him, closed his left eye and took a deep breath, keeping himself steady, wondering if Norrington had gone mad as well. He heard the commodore laugh. "Brilliant try, master pirate, but I'm afraid it just doesn't do."

Will forced both of his eyes open this time and strained to see past the bright splotches of light obscuring his vision. He saw Norrington retrieve a pistol from his belt and hold it up. The momentary silence that followed this action was interrupted by Barbossa's husky laughter. "We can't die, commodore," chuckled the pirate conceitedly. "That pistol is useless, mate."

"I'm afraid it isn't…_mate_," he added sharply. Will saw him raise the pistol directly in the air, and fire it up into the ceiling of the cave.

_He's daft, _Will thought angrily. Norrington was practically their only way out of this mess…

Norrington fired again. And again. And again. All up at the ceiling. He didn't take aim once. He just stared at them intently, as if waiting for a sudden, catastrophic event…

Bloody hell… 

Realization struck Will like a sledgehammer and he struggled to sit up, but his head pounded and his jaw ached so painfully that he wasn't oriented enough to bring himself to a complete stand. Nausea swept over him again as he knelt, his face in his hands, trying desperately to recover himself in time to warn the others what Norrington was planning.

A sudden, ominous rumbling made Will's stomach turn over. It grew steadily louder, and Will, ignoring the innate urge to heave and collapse, pushed himself to his feet and ran towards Elizabeth. He noticed her surprised look as he grabbed her hand and ran like hell, the hardest and fastest he had ever run in his life. His legs burned, his jaw throbbed, and his head turned with dizziness, but Will focused entirely upon the exit of the cavern. He felt Elizabeth stumble and fall, but he heaved her up quickly, nearly dragging her. There was no time to spare. 

After what seemed like eternity, they reached the exit of the cavernous room in the cave. He threw Elizabeth out in front of him, yelled a groggy, "DON'T MOVE!" and turned around to head back into the cave to retrieve Jack and the rest of his companions. He sprinted in, squinting against the small bits of rock that were starting to descend upon them. 

"She's going to cave in!" came a desperate cry to his left. Will couldn't help but roll his eyes in exasperation…the lad was a bit slow to just jump to that conclusion.

He stopped and frantically searched the area for Jack. He found him sprinting towards the exit, carrying Anamaria in his arms. Will noticed a rather large bump forming over her right eye. _How did Anamaria get here? She's dead! _he thought. Shaking that from his mind and turning his attention to more important matters, he refocused his gaze upon Jack. "JACK!" he yelled, running after him and momentarily collapsing as a wave of pain engulfed his jaw again. He shook his head as he knelt upon the ground and suddenly felt himself being pulled up by a man he did not know. The man shouted, "RUN, DAMN IT, RUN!" Will felt the man forcing him forward, practically being pushed across the cavern by the stranger. He turned around and saw the entire crew of the '_Victoria Anne' _running behind him, Jack carrying Anamaria, Gibbs running next to Norrington, who carried a man over his shoulder. Will tripped again and cried out in pain as his jaw contacted the hard earth. But, once again, he was pulled up by the stranger and dragged forward by the scruff of his neck. The pain in his face was so intense that Will felt as though he were going to vomit or faint…or both. But the man kept dragging him by his collar until they were out of the cavern.

"Will!" He felt Elizabeth cradle him in her arms, but he did not respond for fear of vomiting. He struggled to sit up, however, to see if the others had successfully followed. The '_Victoria Anne' _crew was all there, and Jack soon appeared, and he carefully placed Anamaria's unconscious form upon the ground. Gibbs heaved himself through and fell to the ground, panting. Norrington was approaching, carrying the man. The commodore stretched out his hands and shoved the unconscious man into Jack's arms, screaming, "TAKE HIM!" 

At that moment, all went black as rocks fell.

Elizabeth screamed and Will flung himself over her, covering her body and his head with his hands and arms. He winced as several fairly large rocks hit him on his back and legs, but prayed silently that nothing bigger would make contact with him or his wife. He could hear muffled shouts of dismay and pain, but soon the scraping and falling of the rocks grew so loud Will was sure he would go deaf. Minute after minute passed, and Will expected a sudden blow, an exceedingly heavy rock to fall upon him…but such never happened. Slowly but surely the rocks stopped falling until all that was left was the soft trickling of small pebbles. 

Will opened his mouth and coughed, tasting the thick, grimy sand that now permeated the air. It was so thick that he could barely make out silhouettes of his companions surrounding him. He coughed and gagged until the air cleared and he could breathe. "Elizabeth…are you ok?"

"F-fine," she responded. Will rolled off of her and looked at her. She had small cuts and bruises over her forearms and cheeks, and she was completely covered in dust, but other than that, to his relief, she looked fine. Will smiled and hauled himself to his feet, using Elizabeth and the surrounding rock walls as support. He studied his surroundings and saw the crew of the _'Victoria Anne' _was fine, if not a little beaten up. Gibbs' shirt and pants were torn, but he had sustained no injuries. Anamaria lay groaning quietly as Jack knelt over her. She looked quite normal, aside from the huge bump that had formed on her head, but Jack had huge gashes and bruises all over his body; his shirt was soaked in blood on the right arm, and his pants were torn at the knee, where another gash had formed. Dolan lay next to the crouching form of Jack, being tended to by the stranger Will had never seen before. But Norrington…

"Where's Norrington?" he asked, his words slurred and his voice raspy. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. "Where's Norrington?"

A few people looked to him, others whispered to each other. Will looked around the cavern in a slight panic, but he could find the commodore nowhere.

"Where is he? Where's the commodore?" he asked, nearly yelling. His eyes swept his companions again for the sign of the regal soldier, but once again, his search yielded nothing. He began to physically search, pushing over rocks and shoving aside mounds of pebbles in search of him. His mind reeled and his heart pounded…where was he?

"Stop, lad…STOP." A hand grasped his shoulder and he turned around to face Gibbs. "Norrington's dead."

The statement simply did not register with Will. "But where is he? I saw him! He must be here somewhere…" Will protested as he turned around to search some more. But Gibbs' grasp had grown tighter. 

"He's not here, Will. He was buried by the rocks as soon as he shoved Dolan to Jack…I saw it, mate," he said quietly.

_He's dead…and it's my fault. _

_I let the curse take control of me. _ 

_I was the one who led everyone here._

_He was the one who saved our lives._

_And he's the one that's dead._

_All because of me._

Will let out a gasp-filled cry of someone who had learned too much too fast. He reached for the nearest cave wall to steady himself, and he felt himself slide down it until he sat with his legs flung out in front of him, his back resting against the jagged edge of the wall. For a few moments, he simply shook his head, only vaguely aware of Elizabeth comforting him, kissing him gently on the face and squeezing tightly onto his hand. But then the heavy realization sat in, feeling as though someone had stabbed him through the chest with a sharp dagger: Norrington was dead.

And it was his entire fault.  

~*~

Special thanks to Eryn of Lasgalen for her exceedingly funny and entertaining review. Love ya, mellonin.


	24. Life's Liquid

**Disclaimer: **Yadda, yadda, yadda. Insert your own disclaimer here.

**A/N:** Don't hurt me…please. I went to Florida December 17th, and I got back New Year's Eve…I had NO time to whip out another chapter then and there. I really apologize for that, guys…I really do. I had meant to do one right before I left, but of course, chores have to be done and my mom has to make me do them. So no chapter before vacation. But here you go…the next chapter. I hope you won't hurt me.

**Dedicated to: **

_~Lizzi. Happy Yule, hun!_

_~ Gwyn: what would I do without you, beta?_****

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change 

Life's Liquid

________

"He's going to drink himself to death."

That was all Elizabeth had heard Jack say for an entire week. Otherwise, he had remained silent, speaking to no one. He seemed numbed, disjointed and dazed. His eyes were slightly glazed and held no more mischievous glimmer as they once did. He refused to see Anamaria or Dolan, and had almost gotten away with refusing treatments to his own bleeding wounds before Elizabeth's incessant insistence had gotten the best of him.

But Jack was right, nonetheless. Will _was _going to drink himself to death. At first, he hadn't showed any signs of breaking; he was respectfully mournful over the commodore, no doubt, but that was to be expected. He spent the night in Elizabeth's arms, holding back the tears of confusion and guilt that he had wanted to shed. Of course, being the determined man he was, he had not cried. He had simply clung to her like a small child, confused and overwhelmed with reality. 

Elizabeth had hoped his upsetting mood would lift upon time. Unfortunately, with each passing day, it got worse. He stopped eating and would only consume solid food when she force-fed him. He would babble incessantly about his childhood, relaying seemingly random occurrences from his past that were irrelevant. She would silently listen to him speak about his quest for his father, about how he had wanted a relationship with the man who had created him. The sparkle in his eyes was undeniable when he spoke of William Turner. Yet the sparkle would be replaced by a dullness at the end of his narrative as he simply stated, "But that was then. And this is now."

Her concern had grown even greater when she found him clinging to a bottle of rum as he sat in his quarters one night. Shocked, she had asked him where he got it. He had answered, in slurred words, "Best drink in the whole world. Numbs the pain, it does…numbs all the pain." Of course, she had grabbed the bottle from him before he could protest, marched to the main deck, and flung the despised drink overboard, vowing that she would never let her husband ruin himself by the vile liquid. 

But the next day, he found another bottle.

He would never tell her where they were, and when she would ask Jack, he would only shrug and turn away. Deciding that Will needed her compassion and understanding instead of her anger, she had returned to him, telling him how it wasn't his fault, how Norrington's death was inevitable, how it was regrettable and yet unpreventable. It was then she heard her father's voice echo in her head: "The boy's fate is regrettable…" She inwardly cringed, remembering how idiotic that explanation had sounded. And then, her own doubts took her mind, and she had tried to sort them out.

Was it Will's fault?

_No, _her mind answered stubbornly. _It was an accident._

He should have realized what he was doing.

 _He was under the spell._

He's stronger than that. Perhaps he was unaware of the devastation his actions would cause.

_It's not his fault._

Are you sure?

_…no._

Elizabeth wasn't sure of anything anymore. She wasn't sure if Will would stop in his self-destruction. She wasn't sure if she could help him. She wasn't sure if she could cope with seeing him so helpless and weak, the shell of a man who once had the determination and posture of a bull. He was slowly destroying himself…would she be able to help him?

_Maybe. _

But there was only one man who would be able to fix his guilt. The man who had "abandoned him", the very man Will was terrified of becoming. If Will wouldn't listen to her, he would have to listen to his own father.

But something told her, deep down inside, that getting father and son to help each other was going to be more difficult than she hoped.

~*~

The soft motion of the ship's soft lull softened the sharp pang of desperation in Elizabeth's stomach. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, relaxing her muscles. The wind rustled her loose hair lightly. She could hear the soft lapping of the ocean against the hull of the _Black Pearl_, once the ship of Barbossa, now their own.

"Nice evening, isn't it?"

Jumping slightly, Elizabeth turned to see Bootstrap Bill Turner smiling tiredly at her. Though his face was considerably tanner with a few more wrinkles, she was astonished at how much Will and his father looked alike. Although she and Bootstrap had not spoken once while tending to the injured, there was a silent understanding between them: take care of the crew first, figure things out later.

Elizabeth tried to return the smile, but she knew it looked more like a grimace than anything else. There just wasn't anything to smile about anymore. "Yes…lovely evening."

Bootstrap nodded, folding his hands behind his back. Elizabeth averted her gaze to lie upon the dark blankness of the ocean that stretched out ahead of her. The awkward silent drifted to her ears, and she spoke. "How are they doing?"

He shrugged. "The best they can be, considering the situations."

"Indeed."

Silence.

"You need to help Will." The words came fast, and she could not stop them.

"I cannot help Will. He has to help himself," came the somewhat cold reply.

Elizabeth turned to the man next to her. "He needs you, now more than ever. You need to help him!"

Bootstrap sighed. "If I've learned one thing, its that you can never stop a man from making mistakes. He has to make them, fix them, and learn from them himself."

"He's not just some man. He's your son." 

Elizabeth could tell from the look on Bootstrap's face that she had hit home; perhaps a bit too close to home. His eyes looked slightly overbright, and his face slackened. But only the wind answered Elizabeth's pleas. After long minutes of waiting for an answer, she realized she would not receive one. Feeling hopeless, Elizabeth turned from Bootstrap and headed for her quarters, hot tears flooding her eyes.

~*~

An hour later she stood on the deck once more, flinging over another bottle of half-finished rum into the nighttime waters. Collecting herself and trying to resist the temptation to scream, she smoothed her filthy, wrinkled dress and pushed her hair out of her face. She had been in worse situations than this, but never had she had to deal with her husband's loss of faith. Seeing him turning to the bottle, something that the previous Will Turner would never do, disheartened her so she could barely stand.

But her own determination held strong, and with one more deep breath, she marched back into her cabin she shared with Will. Upon opening the door, a strong smell of alcohol invaded her senses and she felt a wave of nausea come over her. Will was asleep on the bed, breathing heavily. Knowing she was no use to him while he slept, she closed the door again and walked back out to deck, in the fresh air of the Caribbean. Unfortunately, the crisp air could do nothing to quell her nausea, and she found herself hanging over the railing.

"If I had a shilling every time I saw you dangling over that railing while spilling the contents of your stomach, I could retire a happy man."

_Good God, _Elizabeth inwardly groaned. _The _one _person who has to catch me vomiting…_

She weakly looked over and saw Jack lugging a huge bag behind him, dragging it across the wooden deck. Soft clinking of glass was heard as he gave the bag one final heave for it to land at his feet. Slightly surprised to see him out and about, she studied him. His dazed look had disappeared and was replaced by the ostentatious aura of Jack Sparrow once more. He looked back to his normal self, although Elizabeth realized that nothing about the man was normal. She felt relief at his return to "normalcy"…as much as she found herself at odds with the pirate, the absence of his usual attitude had only added to her heavy sadness. 

"What is that?" she asked, her eyes shifting towards the bag he carried.

"This?" Jack gestured to the bag and shook his head sadly. "My life's liquid." He reached down, opened the bag, and pulled out a bottle of rum. "This bag could make me happy for at least –" he glanced down at the bulging bag "- a couple of hours."

Elizabeth goggled. "Where did you get those?"

Jack peered at her. "From the cargo hold. The same place dear William has been getting them." He looked placed the bottle of rum gently back into the bag and lifted it slowly, as if the action pained him terribly.

"I'll let you go drink your rum," she said angrily, staring at him, "and you can even join Will if you like…but he may be passed out already," she added, unable to keep the spite out of her voice.

"Think I'm going to drink it, then?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Quite the contrary," he said, almost mockingly. Heaving the bag and giving a grunt with the effort, in one swift motion Jack flung the bag over the railing into the salty waters, the rum bottles lost to the depths of the sea.

Elizabeth was unable to speak for a few moments, watching the bobbing bottles distance themselves from their ship. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched Jack take off his hat in a final salute to his long-time friend, Mr. Rum Bottle. Finishing his silent eulogy after a few moments, he placed his hat back on his head and looked at Elizabeth. "Will is more trouble than he's worth," he said abruptly, "but the whelp saved my life, and I'm not a _completely_ dishonest man, after all," he added as a side note. Looking uncomfortable for a minute as if he were vulnerable, he cleared his throat. Giving one last, sad glance to the rum bottles he sighed. "I'm too nice, as it were."

She could have hugged him, but she knew if she did, her embrace would be quickly followed by vomit. She smiled in appreciation, and she could've sworn she saw only the trace of a smile on his face. But before she could ponder it any further, she gave another great heave over the railing.

"I'll leave you to you and your stomach contents," she heard him announce. He disappeared into his quarters, and upon hearing his door close, Elizabeth felt grateful to be alone again.

However, for the first time in a long time, she felt a glimmer of hope as she clung to the side of the ship, gazing down into the black waters. If Jack could sacrifice his rum for Will's betterment, she could sacrifice much more.   

~*~

Yes, perhaps uneventful, but a necessary filler chapter nonetheless. I know you're probably wondering about how Bill and Anamaria are alive, but you're going to have to wait until the sequel of this story to find that out, I think. Of course, that's prone to change, but as far as I see it now, it will be in the sequel.

Next chapter: Will's POV. 

Hope you enjoyed.


	25. Accusations

**Disclaimer: **Own nothing, own nothing, own nothing but the plot. And Dolan. And Ingrid. So there.

**A/N: **Wow, talk about some props for me! I'm updating twice in a weekend…I think I deserve some congratulations. WHY am I updating so much? Because I have the best reviewers in the world. Seriously: I love you guys. You make my day…..over 600 reviews? I didn't think my story was THAT good. J But in all honesty, I want to thank you all.

**Dedication: **To all of my readers and/or reviewers out there. Thanks a bunch.

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Winds of Change

Accusations 

________

Will felt as if a carriage had run over him twenty times.

His head hurt, his stomach churned unpleasantly, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. From the dimly lit corner of the room, he could barely make out a candle lightly burning, the flame flickering as it danced with the wind. Will closed his eyes again and groaned, wishing that he hadn't consumed so much rum. He had to take a moment to quietly admire Jack for being able to live off of that drink without feeling like a pile of horse manure afterwards.

A knock on the door made Will groan again. Although he was sure the knock was soft, to his ears it felt as if someone was banging on the door with a welding hammer. He decided if he ignored it, the person would get the hint and go away. Unfortunately, whoever was interested in coming in wasn't about to let up. The eventual incessant knocking almost made Will's ears burst in pain. Finally, he found his voice and screamed in a sluggishly hoarse voice, "Wha' d'you wan'?"

"To come in," came a muffled voice.

"Then come in, or shut up," Will shot back, rubbing his eyes. 

The door opened with a loud creek, and Will swore his ears were going to fall off from all of the traumatic noise. He struggled to sit up, but found that his stomach didn't necessarily agree with that. Taking a deep breath in order to prevent himself from vomiting, he carefully lay back down again, silently chastising himself for looking and acting so ridiculous. What had gotten into him?

Shaking his head, Will squinted up at the man who stood before him. The man had a proud posture to him that was undeniable. Straight-backed, shoulders stiff, and hands clasped behind his back, he seemed more like an English dignitary than a crewmember sailing with pirates. His shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back, and the only indication that the man wasn't royalty was his rather shabby-looking jacket with worn pants and a soiled white shirt.

Will knew who this man was, but he wasn't about to let his mouth speak his name. His mind suddenly let loose all of the childhood memories he had been trying to suppress. He heard the mocking voices of young boys in his head who teased him incessantly about the absence of his father. He remembered overhearing the townspeople talk about the "bastard boy" and the "unwed mother", and he didn't have to guess twice who they were talking about. Shunned from society, his mother was surprisingly strong, insisting that he was not a bastard, that she was indeed married to his father, and that ignorant people were not worth the time of day to be listened to. However strong his mother had made him, Will had not forgotten the pain they both endured.

"My father's a merchant sailor!" he had shouted at the children who teased him, his fists clenched in a fit of rage. His anger did no good, and, of course, the children didn't bother to listen to a bastard boy. He had gone home to his mother, but refused to cry. Instead, he took a stick and began to fight the angry voices in his head, trying desperately to teach himself swordplay so that, one day, he could hurt every one of those kids who had hurt him so badly.

Unfortunately, wounds are only flesh deep. The wounds they had inflicted on Will as a boy had wounded his soul.

"May I sit?" 

The man's question brought Will back to the present. In response, he gave an indecisive grunt, and the man took it as a yes. He sat down on a chair adjacent to the bed, and Will was shocked to notice that the man facing him was an older, mirror image of himself. In a torrent of memory, he knew this was the man who had grabbed him by the shirt in the falling cave, and had saved his life.

"I see you had a turn with the bottle." There was a slightly amused intonation in the comment.

Great, Will thought, almost rolling his eyes. He's another Elizabeth. 

"The last thing I need is another lecture," he muttered.

"Another lecture is the very thing you need," replied the man coldly.

In a sudden burst of anger, Will sat up. The world spun around him, but he took no notice as he focused his piercing gaze upon the man. His jaw was clenched and his stomach churned as his head throbbed unpleasantly. But he was too angry to notice.

"You have a wife and a child on the way, or so I'm informed," the man continued without preamble, apparently ignorant to Will's angry stare. "You have a responsibility to them."

Will felt himself laugh out loud. It was an abrupt, forced laugh, and the voice that came out of him was not his own. "Yes, you're right. I need to be lectured about a wife and family from a man who was never there for his own." In the man's silence, Will continued, "A man who chose sailing over his wife and son. A man who sent money home once a year. A man who pillaged and plundered, murdered and stole, but maintained to his family that he was an honest man, a merchant sailor." He laughed once again. "You're funny, William Turner, you're really funny."

The awkward silence that ensued afterward made Will realize that the rum was talking for him. But, for some strange reason, he didn't care. At all. "You know what you're problem is, _Bootstrap_?" Will heard himself ask, smiling dazedly. "You still think highly of yourself. You're a good-for-nothing pirate, yet you think of yourself as goddamn royalty." He chuckled. "Did they teach you to hold yourself high when you plundered villages, or did they teach you proper posture when you swabbed the decks under Captain Jack Sparrow?"

"Aye, I was a pirate," the man answered gruffly, as if he were waiting for the perfect moment to speak. "But that doesn't mean I wasn't a good man."

Will took in the statement and nodded. "I learned that you could be a good man and a pirate. But I don't hate you because you were a pirate, _father_," he spat unpleasantly, the word spoiling in his mouth. "I hate you because your selfishness killed my mother and orphaned me."

Bootstrap stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair. "I will NOT listen to this," he stated softly, now looking at Will menacingly. "Don't you _dare_ blame me for your mother's death."

"Then who should I blame?" Will shot back, anger rising in his throat. "Did you know she would walk the docks every night, waiting for you to come home? And every night that you didn't return, I would listen to her sob by the fire. She never told me, and she never thought I knew. But I knew well enough that the reason she caught cholera and died was because she would walk those docks, day in and day out, in the freezing cold and sweltering hot, waiting for the husband who abandoned her to return." Will stood up and staggered, but managed to look his father in the eyes. "So don't you _dare _lecture me on taking care of my family. I'll be damned to the depths if I turn out to be a father like you."

~*~

_Maybe I'm crazy, _Jack thought as he looked out over the ocean. The sun was rising on the horizon, and the soft rolling of the ship had made Jack question his sanity. _Hmmm…or maybe I'm not._

It was an act the pirate did every once in a while; he figured it was healthy to establish whether or not he was indeed completely daft, or whether it was simply too much sun and too little rum. _Definitely not insane, _he had decided, nodding to himself. _At least, not yet._

Norrington's death had prompted him to once again question his mental status. For a couple days afterwards, Jack felt himself physically and emotionally exhausted. He felt more bemused than he normally did as he awkwardly assessed why he felt so disjointed and unlike his usual self. He had a lot of time to think on it, and he came to the astonishing conclusion that the reason why he was so upset was because he had been fond of the commodore.

Jack shook his head. He had promised himself long ago that emotional attachments were a dangerous trap for a man of his occupation. _Meet a friend, lose a friend. Meet a stranger, don't know he's gone. _It was the pirate way. Jack had broken that specific code of piracy twice: once with Anamaria, and once with Bill Turner. And both times, he learned from it. 

Jack groaned aloud in disgust as he realized he had let his emotions get the best of him. He had seen Elizabeth peering curiously at him as he sat and thought about what he could have done differently to save Norrington's life. He racked his brain, but could not think that there was any way to save that man's life. He had risked his life to save Dolan's; it was his own decision.

But they had found Norrington's body. It had been Jack's duty to carry his body out of the cave, put it onto one of _The Black Pearl's _rowboats, and sent it out to sea. He had watched along with all of the crew well enough to stand as the little boat drifted silently off into the horizon, eventually disappearing into the setting sun.

"That's the second time I've felt responsible for a death of one of my crew," he had mumbled to Elizabeth. She only shed a few silent tears and nodded gently. He knew she understood.

And yet, life moves on. Jack pushed the memory of the commodore from his mind and had busied himself ridding the blasted ship with all of the rum. He had been back to his normal self, insulting Elizabeth's baby-sickness, mumbling incoherently under his breath, and swaggering about the decks like old times.

_Defense mechanism, _he thought grimly. If he didn't let on he was affected, nobody would know. And that was exactly what he was trying to do.

In the distance, Jack noted raised voices coming from Will's quarters. Frowning, he strode over to the source of the noise and put his ear to the closed door. The voices were too muffled now to hear clearly, so he pressed harder against the door, straining his hearing capacity. Just when Jack thought he could decipher specific words, the door flew open. Before he could gain his balance, Jack found himself toppling flat onto his face, landing with a loud thud directly on his stomach. Grimacing in pain he looked forward and saw a pair of boots. Following them up past the trousers, past the weapon belt, all the way up to the face, Jack found himself staring at a man who he had thought was dead for more years than he could remember. 

"Hope we were entertaining enough for you, Jack," Bill grumbled, not looking amused. He stepped over the prostrate body of Jack and disappeared on deck.

Standing up and brushing himself off, he cleared his throat and was about to speak when he noted the absolutely distraught expression upon Will's face. _Of course you bloody idiot, _Jack thought to himself. Will glanced at Jack and then gingerly sat down on the bed again. From the lad's bloodshot eyes and vague expression of exhaustion, Jack knew he was still drunk. Not a good time to meet the father who you had thought was dead for onwards of fifteen years.

Jack sat down next to Will on the bed, and adjusted his hat. "For the record, you weren't entertaining." Will made no comment. Jack tried a different approach. "It's not worth blaming him, mate," he said softly.

"What would you know about it?" Will grumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Jack shrugged. "Never had a father…don't remember having a mother either." Will shifted uneasily next to him, and Jack sighed. "The past is in the past."

Will snorted. "Sure, Jack," he said sardonically, looking at him. "That's why you spent ten years searching for Barbossa who wronged you _in the past_," he emphasized. "You of all people should know what it's like."

Nodding, Jack replied, "Aye." _Just say it, Jack_, he thought. He took a deep breath and commented, "What's between you and your father is just that: between you and your father. All I'm going to say is that not a day went by where he didn't talk about you. Whether swabbing the decks, dining with the crew, or enjoying a bottle of rum, he would talk about you. Got annoying, really," he commented airily. Jack slapped Will on the shoulder and stood up, swaying just a bit. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got things to do." He opened the door to leave but turned back to Will. "The rum's gone, Will. So don't look for it."

Will looked at him incredulously. "Did you say the rum is- "

"GONE! It's gone. And don't make me say that again."

~*~

After checking on Anamaria and Dolan, Elizabeth and Ingrid assured him that the crew was fine, and that all they needed was rest. Jack had nodded, silently relieved at their improving conditions. He had bowed respectfully to both of the caretakers and marched his way up to the deck. They would make way as soon as the entire crew was healthy enough to raise anchor.

"Jack."

He turned and saw Bill moving towards him, his face illuminated by the sun. Jack nodded, and thought, _Meet a friend, loose a friend…_

"Aye?"

Bill stopped short and eyed Jack accordingly. "You haven't changed."

"Neither have you."

Bill smiled. "It's good to see you again, Jack." He extended his hand. Jack looked at it curiously, and heard his mind repeat: _Meet a friend, loose a friend…_Nevertheless, he grasped his hand and smiled mischievously. "Good to have you back, mate." 

Pause.

"Speaking of having you back," Jack spoke, feeling the uneasy silence surround them, "how did you manage to steal a coin and send it to your son?"

Bill winced at the mention of his child, and Jack was surprised to notice his eyes looked overbright. But a knowing smile crept over Bill's face, and his eyes didn't look overbright anymore. "Long story." Jack knew not to persist.

"How did you meet my son?" The question was forced, and Jack glanced at Bill out of the corner of his eye. Jack shrugged. "Long story."

  
Bill laughed. "No, you haven't changed a bit."

Jack smiled and was about to reply when a shocked shout came from behind him. Jack whirled around and in a flash of white and red found himself face down on the deck, being restrained by several strong men. Jack struggled but felt a wild punch to the back of the head, and cried out in pain and iron clappers were put on his hands. The men restraining him were practically digging their knees into his back. He grunted and tried to swing his legs around to give him the momentum to stand up, but unfortunately, he was unable to do that because another soldier was putting iron shackles onto his legs as well. Relentless, he thrust his right elbow into the stomach of a soldier and sent him doubling over. Unfortunately, that warranted him a punch to the jaw. He felt a loosening of his jawbone and felt warm blood flowing into his mouth. 

_Bloody hell…_

"Stand him up!" came a shout from behind him. Jack was pulled roughly to his feet. Blood trickled down his jaw and onto his chest. Yet an unwarranted and unprovoked punch to the stomach sent him doubled over, coughing and spitting. He turned to look into the eyes of a tall, nicely-built general. His hawkish stare made Jack's stomach clench, and his curling lips sent the message that he was not a man to be messed with. "Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" he asked, amused. Jack was in too much pain to answer. "Ah, Mr. Sparrow, it isn't cordial to not respond when asked a question." With a curt nod, Jack felt another blow to his body, this time to the side of the head. He went limp, and was only suspended by the soldiers holding on to him.

Shouts of dismay and shock reached his ears as if in a vacuum, distant and far away, as if they were from another world altogether. He looked up bleakly and saw Will being restrained in the same fashion as he was, except he was in far better shape. Elizabeth was being held by a soldier as she screamed and motioned wildly, and the rest of the crew of the _Victoria Anne_ were surrounded by armed guards with their bayonets drawn. Coughing weakly, Jack struggled to stand up, but found himself unable to.

"Mr. Sparrow." Jack looked up and saw the hawk-eyed general staring back at him. "My name is General Ratherford. And I am here to accuse yourself and William Turner with the murder of Commodore James Thomas Norrington."

~*~

**_Fin Part I._**

Don't hate me…although this is the end of The Winds of Change, Part II will probably be coming out tomorrow or sometime this week. I'm unsure of what to name it, but please look for it. It will probably be posted sometime before this Wednesday.

I hope you enjoyed. And I KNOW you'll love the next one.


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